Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Dysfunctional Shower

Don’t get me wrong, my apartment isn’t perfect but at the price, I couldn’t ask for more… except maybe quicker service from our super. No, not a super like in the Incredibles movie, not meaning an ace of the highest quality, but meaning my superintendent. The caretaker of my building.

My apartment has some quirks… the electrical outlets are poorly placed, the light have no covers, the kitchen has fluorescent ring lighting that decides to blink on occasion reminding you of the movie Psycho. Clearly I need to rip out the bulb and make a trip to Home Depot.

Recently I’ve discovered that the only way to operate my toaster oven is via extension chord running across my kitchen… this prompted us to get a cart and move around few things. At this point, I can call my kitchen finished… it’s not perfect but it’s the way its going to be for the rest of my duration at Kensington Court.

Last week, because of our collective laziness, we discovered what it means when your ridiculously long and thick hair collects in mass quantity in the shower drain… IT CLOGS! We have been saying we need to pick up a hair catcher, I even went into the useless Duane Reade (the size of a small deli) and found nothing, but no further effort was put into this necessary little piece of mesh. Instead I watched strand after strand enter the abyss that is the drain.

At first it drained slowly allowing soap scum to collect on the sides and floor surrounding the drain but now it drains VERY slowly… a snails pace. I shower in no more than 15 minutes and within that time; the water level is well above my ankles. It is disgusting. I am reduced to wearing flip flops and washing my feet post shower in the sink or while standing near the bath faucet.

I’ve begged Paul to call Karen (super) for about a week and a half, and of course he forgets. I suppose he has a right to forget these things, but I’d imagine stepping into the nastiest tub EVER is reminder enough. I refuse to clean the tub because the bleach won’t drain only leaving an additionally dirty tub filled with toxins.

Let me tell you about Karen, the lovely, polite, sweet, USELESS super. She is about 100 years old and as skinny as a twig. Yes she tolerates the cold like a 300 lb heifer … I’ve seen her standing out in the court yard… DOING NOTHING. Anyway, Paul finally called her on Sunday because I was about to commit arson at the site of my ever dirty tub. She let us know that “HE” doesn’t work on Sunday’s but she’d be able to come by tomorrow. Clearly someone else does the “dirty work”. She is more like a messenger or secretary if you will. I wonder if her rent is subsidized entirely by the landlord or if it is just a discounted rate. I could take phone calls and not come though too if that helps me get a free apartment. I’d quit my job and live off the land.

Anyway … we dropped off the keys on Sunday. I was very excited for my draining shower that I got home and immediately prepared myself to the cleaning and scrubbing up ahead. But instead I discovered the same tub, with the same slow drain… no dice.

This morning I slipped on my flip flops ready to enter the grimy orifice of my tub for a shower but was too disgusted. Instead I took a sponge bath, tied up my hair and went on my merry way. I NEED to wash my hair, I NEED to stand in my shower as hot water is doused on my body at a steady rate. I need this fixed.

I called Paul and insisted he call Useless again… he FORGOT again… so I Called him at work to remind him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m MORE than capable of calling the super myself. I mean, I have a phone, I have fingers to dial, and I have a mouth that doesn’t shut up, but I don’t have her number! Paul hasn’t given it to me, so therefore he took on this responsibility. I cannot live like this though. Maybe he fears my approach of the subject like HEY SUPER, I KNOW THIS IS YOUR JOB AND ALL … TO FIX THINGS HERE, SO COME TO MY FUCKING APARTMENT AND FIX THIS MOTHER FUCKING DRAIN BEFORE I FUCKING STUFF YOU DOWN IT IN BITS AND PIECES!

I just want to take a shower… sans flip flops

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