I was apartment-hunting many years ago in Miami Beach with a realtor. I don’t know why I felt such a need to live in Miami Beach — Miami is a big city — but that was the only place I was looking.

The realtor and I had a routine: We’d meet up at the first place to be seen that day, then ride around in her car looking at each of the 4-5 available places she had lined up.

Most of these living spaces, for what I wanted to spend, were pieces of shit.

Dark, drab, shadowy apartments in suspect-looking buildings. I was not excited about any of them. But we knew my budget, and the market was the market. This is what I had to choose from.

I finally settled on a cheap place in a dreary building not far from the Fontainebleau Miami Beach. It was a dump, but the price was right. I told her this was the place I wanted, and she congratulated me on finding a new home. The way it worked, at least then in that market, the realtor would submit an official offer on paper to whomever owned the place, who would then respond with their acceptance, rejection or a counter offer. My offer was for the exact listed price, so we assumed acceptance.

But, by the time my realtor submitted the offer, the place had already accepted an offer from someone else. It was at the same price, but first come, first served. I’d “lost out” on my new apartment. I always remember this when I drive past that building, and thank whomever beat me to it.

Aside from timing, there’s a bigger reason why apartment hunting was such a challenge.