I showed up at the apartment at the requisite time, having confirmed yesterday. The broker was nowhere to be found. I shot off a text to him.

Three minutes later, he called. “What apartment are you trying to view?”

I gave him the address. “Oh,” he said. He paused. “Just buzz any number and someone will let you in.”

“Um, what? This is really weird.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Are you buzzing? Someone should let you in.”

It was noon on a Tuesday. No one was home. Also, as non-threatening as I look, really?

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll be there in seven minutes.”

Eventually, he showed up. “Sorry, I wrote you down for tomorrow,” he said.

I’ve perfected the art of not saying it’s okay when it’s not, so I said nothing.

“Are you Jewish?” he asked. “You look Jewish.”

The apartment was actually nice. But I had a bad taste in my mouth.

“Where do you go to synagogue?” the broker asked me as we were leaving.