One herculean test down, one to go.
In many ways, finding an apartment in New York City is harder than the bar. For the bar, you know what's expected of you, Bar/Bri hands you 50 lbs. of books full of the things you need to know and within two excruciating days in a cavernous room filled with school chums, firm mates and random wierdos (like no-pencil guy discussed supra), it's over. You either pass or you don't.
With real estate, it can go forever if you let it.
The prewars have fire escapes, layers of crusty paint and shoddy electricity. Postwars are built badly, have thin walls and bad water pressure.
Uptown is cheaper but stultifying. Downtown apartments are crap, but you'll save on cabs going home after a night out.
You can get more for your dollar in Brooklyn, but good luck finding a supermarket.
Queens? BYO girlfriend, because you're pretty much locked up socially out there.
There is no passing grade in apartment-hunting, just an endless series of trade-offs, ending in the issuance of a little piece of commercial paper for a large amount to a landlord who is inevitably an asshole in due course. If you have a broker, there's even more commercial paper to issue.
Long story short, no rest for the weary. But no right to complain either - if I didn't work in Biglaw, I would be looking for walkups in Jersey City.