The Shit-hole Blues

I deeply regret my apartment. So much so that I'm going to leave. Yes, after only one week I know that I cannot live here any longer than I have to. I'm going to start packing up my stuff (what little I brought to the place) and putting it back in storage. I'll talk to the manager in the next couple of days to see what to do, but this place is just not me.

How is this place not me, you ask? Well, let me tell you. I am not 25 years old, and not being 25 years old, I have gotten used to living quite nicely. I like clean, organized places. I like doors that close and cabinets I can reach. I like not being able to see into my neighbor's apartment through my kitchen cupboard. I like sharp edges and fresh walls. I like a tub that has never been bathed in, or at least that comes clean. I like a bathroom with a ceiling fan, not a little unsecure window I'm supposed to open after a shower. I like not having fleas. I like knowing that I don't have roaches or some other disgusting insect. I like not fearing death when I take out the trash. I like having a place to park at all times. I like not getting a parking ticket because it's Thursday. I like being able to cook, or at least boil water, without generating too much heat for my smoke/heat detector. I like a microwave, even though I will probably never use it except to make popcorn. I like seeing something other than an alley and another person's apartment outside my window. I like a general knowledge that my place reflects who I am as a person. And this is not that place.

This is the shittiest place I've ever lived -- it beats my roach-motel in college and the room without a/c in grad school. What's your shittiest place?