We'll "never find an apartment without Guido"...

After only one afternoon searching for an apartment, I have concluded that brokers are New York's equivalent of the used car salesman. One of the more entertaining ones we met today, let's call him Guido, came complete with a giant gold cross on a chain thicker than my pinky, a thick aura of cologne, and plenty of manipulations up his leather jacket sleeve to try to get us to sign for one of the crappiest apartment we'd seen. I really really wanted to ask him if he knew he was a walking caricature, but as I felt any more time spent in his presence might result in my needing a shower to ever feel clean again, I held my tongue.