How to Dismantle a Russian's Apartment

I found a high cupboard to hide the cat litter. This cupboard, like the box on the shelf to the right of the front door and the canister under the sink, was oozing with plastic bags. Enough to survive the Monday and Thursday trash days in case of a nuclear holocaust. Moving the cat litter motivated us to move the computer monitor and the two boxes of video cassettes, an action that freed up the shelf--that hallway straggler. This took care of the shotgun artery of the third-story apartment. We still needed to settle the living room, the bedroom, the kitchen cupboards. We'd probably never know what to do with the office. She'd clearly been embarrassed--the desk covered in a plastic IKEA body bag.

The Russian said to move nothing. Don't unplug any cords. Don't move the dishes. Don't disturb the balance of the closet. All we needed--Z, J, and I--was a camera, a legal pad, and a youthful sense of anarchial order. This Russian had needed a change, and we were there to bring the Quiet Revolution (2007 style).

This is how to dismantle a Russian's apartment (in Montreal), to make it yours (when it's clearly not), to carve out a niche.

Step One: Check out the situation.


Step Two: Disregard her warnings.


Step Three: Document all change.

Step Four: Mark your territory.
Final Step: Try not to gloat.
As James Bond suspected, the Cold War is still on.