I’ve recently found myself in the position of flatmate hunter (actually, I find myself I this position fairly often, it’s almost as if I’m difficult to live with) and, as such, have spent the last two weeks immersed in the vagaries and joys of finding people to live with.

In principle, this is not a particularly interesting task. It involves taking pictures, writing ads and reading hundreds of emails — all of which can be a shade tedious. Furthermore, if doing it is dull, reading about it is even worse.

So why am writing about this instead of more interesting topics (for example, physics)? Well mostly, it’s because I need to fill up the space somehow or other, but also because, although this sort of thing is boring in principle, in practice it can be educative.

San Francisco is a popular place to live amongst the young and debauched (the debauchery is a fantasy of mine — in reality, not so much). Moreover, such popularity expresses itself most vigorously at this time of year. Summer vacations are over and people are starting new jobs, new schools and all that. Accordingly, demand for rooms is high.

Something like 200 people responded to my ads, leaving me with a fascinating selection of folks to pick from, most of whom were probably serial killers, child rapists or Marxists (yes, as horrible as it sounds, there are in fact Marxists in San Francisco).

Generally speaking, I am somewhat of a hermit. I shelter in my apartment, watch TV and try not to associate with Other People. Whilst this is a pleasant way to live, sometimes I wonder what the rest of the world is like and hunting for people to live with is a good way to find out.

Furthermore, unlike most other aspects of life, the folks I meet via Craigslist all want me. They beg for my attention and wish nothing more than to have the light of Nav shine upon them. Contrast this, if you will, with what happens when folks normally meet me — instead of worship, I get contempt, disdain and mockery.

And, you know, power is rare when one is a graduate student. And respect? Even rarer. You’re at the bottom of the academic totem pole; even undereducated undergraduates rank higher, for they are still young and curious (and, invariably, better-looking).

I don’t know about you, but I crave respect. I long to be worshipped/waited on hand and foot/lavished with attention. Of course, I don’t actually expect that to happen anytime soon (or, in fact, ever), so it’s especially pleasant to find myself in a situation where my undeniable superiority is acknowledged.

There are other situations in life where is sort of thing happens (if you’re good-looking, it’s pretty much every situation in life), but they infrequently touch upon the lives of the young for they usually require the wealth and station that come with age. No, absent accidents of faith, the only way to get respect without actually having to earn it, is to be selling something rare and desirable.

Of course, rare and desirable usually involves sex (never going to happen: If you can’t give it away, getting people to pay for it is a little tricky) or drugs (legally problematic), and so opportunities do not abound. On the one hand, now that I think about it, I suppose a good apartment in SF is a little like crack. When you find it there’s a desperate burning need to have it. And you’ll battle furiously for your fix.

There’s much more I could write on the subject of living in the city (and, more importantly, apartment hunting in the city), but since I’m basically at my word limit I have no reason to continue. Just need a pithy one-liner to finish on.