My coworker Jill is apartment hunting, and she asked how I liked my complex.  It’s fine, I told her, plus there weren’t any other serious contenders.  The first place I checked out seemed nice enough until I asked about internet service, and the girl giving me the tour hesitated a moment before telling me: “Yeah, you can only get dialup here.”  I stared at her as if she had suggested I keep in touch with friends and family via smoke signals and then, gave my mother a look that said, “I think we’re done here.”  Driving out to another complex, we passed the following: liquor store, liquor store, trailer park, cemetery, liquor store.  This time my mother was the one giving the look, but I didn’t disagree.  I picked the place I’m at now because I could get high speed internet, a decent gym and reasonable rent.  Done.  Sold.  And yet, the ladies in the office tried to seal the deal by promoting the fact that they have tanning beds and lots of single men.