Quel Désastre
So, Friday night, after nearly blowing away and getting drenched to the skin, I finally stumble in the door in a panic because I have to meet people for dinner in less than an hour and I look like a drowned rat.
Well, turns out that that was the least of my concerns. I open the door to my apartment to find big puddles on the floor of the entry way and the bedroom hallway. Lovely. There is not one drip but a series of cracks that are all drip drip dripping. Further investigation finds that the entire hallway ceiling is wet to the touch. This does not bode well.
I call to cancel on dinner. I call the super. He comes and looks at the ceiling and basically says there is nothing to be done until it stops raining and to call him if it gets worse. So, instead of having a delicious dinner at the Black Tomato and then hooking up with the Young Public Servants Christmas party, I spend Friday nite monitoring my leaky ceiling and fearing that the whole thing is going to come tumbling down on my head. I also watch a French movie called L'Enfer, which wasn't bad, but not as interesting as I expected from the descriptions/previews.
This makes me angry because I have been telling the super for months that the plaster on a part of the ceiling that was patched previously has been bubbling and feeling damp for months now. Is any action taken? No.
So, now I have assurances that the whole leaky ceiling business will be taken care of when the rain stops. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but seems like the weather was fine on Saturday. No rain. I call the super on Sunday night to see if there is any sort of update on the situation. No. Nothing has been done. It will get looked at first thing Monday morning.
Now, normally when work is done on the apartment, the owner, the one who does the work, leaves a note at least saying he has come by and what he has done or whether he will be back, etc. I get home from work today. No note.
I call the super again (and while I am at it, point out for the 20 billionth time in the last few months that my apartment is freezing cold. I am talking sleeping in fleece sheets with every blanket I own and still waking up in the night cold, cold). This time, I am informed that the only people complaining about the cold are those on my end of the hallway and that (wait for this big surprise) nothing can be done about the ceiling right now and to let him know if it happens again. What the h-e-double hockey sticks is this all about? My ceiling could cave in. There is probably a nasty amount of mold and fungus growing in my ceiling and the problem is just going to be ignored. The only consolation here is that maybe the temperature in the apartment is so low that it is inhibiting the mold growth.
Bah. This means I am going to have to suck it up and start looking for a new place to live. Ca suce le pamplemousse. I have no desire whatsoever to start roaming the city in the cold looking for a new place. What is wrong with these people? If I owned a building and I thought there was potential for part of the ceiling to cave in, I sure as heck would not be just sitting there waiting for it to happen! I also fear leaving the place over Christmas while I go home on holidays in case the weather is bad when I am gone and there is no one to "monitor" the leak. Double bah.
posted by Dish @ 10:43 PM
2 Comments:
I saw some nice men on the roof of my building a few weeks ago and I thought, "Huzzah! They'll finally fixing my leaky window/ceiling!" Nope. Turns out the girl above me had a leak in her office so they were fixing the roof for HER! Hello? I've had a leaky window for 3 years! She JUST MOVED IN! grrrrr! Supers are not-so-super...
When I had leaks and I'd informed my landlord a 100 times and still nothing was done, I sent him an email (all my correspondances are emails so I have proof) stating that if something is not done soon the water damage is going to be very bad and cost more in the long run. Then I refuse rent until I get said problem fixed. I basically lived here for 3 months rent free until he fixed hte problem.
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