Last week I started a running list of the things I despise about apartment-living. The delay in the sequel to that posting can be attributed to the fact that my free time has been largely consumed with house-hunting (and Toby). Let us resume the list, shall we?
5. About a week or so after bringing Toby home, it was late on a Wednesday night and Ryan and I were just about to head off to bed when I noticed a small wet spot in carpet of our bedroom doorway. Knowing full well that neither of us dared take our eyes off the puppy and his 1 oz bladder the whole night, I knew it likely wasn't Toby pee, but it appeared to be about his usual size. So, grudgingly we cleaned it up as if it were dog pee and went on our merry way off to slumberville. In the morning as I sleepily left the bedroom to start my day, I stepped in something wet and squishy. When I looked down, I discovered that the wet spot from only 7 hours before had effectively tripled in size while we slept. Feeling a little curious and concerned but not having much time to investigate I left for work, only to return home and discover that the spot had more than tripled in size yet again. At this point, the 'wet spot' as we'll call it was about the size of a livingroom end table, and showing no signs of slowing down. So off we go to the Superintendent's office to let him know that something is obviously going on - since the carpet was so saturated it had actually lifted (a discovery that our little Toby was quick to make). He tells us that he'll have someone take a look at it the next day. This made me nervous because the next day was a Friday, and based on my experience with property management, "tomorrow" = next week. So Friday afternoon when I'm getting home from work I get into the elevator and lo and behold the superintendent is in the elevator with me! I ask him how it went in our unit and he seems to have no idea what I'm talking about (Surprised? I'm not.) After I refresh his memory he says that no one had a chance to make it by today, so he'll come take a look a little later on. I respond with "Well I'm on my way there right now, why don't you just come along with me so you can see what we're working with. It won't take but a minute." - feeling the pressure he comes along. After seeing the damage that's happening he confirms we need a plumber (no! really?) - but says that it probably won't be until Monday. So early the next week the plumber comes by, cuts a few holes in our bedroom wall and leaves saying he'll be back "later" to fix the pinhole leak in the pipe. "Later" is a subjective term however, and he did not identify that in his mind it meant a couple days. Awesome. So eventually he comes back to fix the leak and then says again that he (or someone) will be back "later" to repair the holes in the wall. (NOTE: I am not home when they are doing these things or I would have blocked him in a corner until he gave us a definitive date with a time range extending no more than a 2 hour window). So someone comes back a day or two later when no one is home to mud and sand and paint this wall. Notice I said sand. When they sanded this wall in our bedroom, they didn't put any sheets down to protect anything.
These holes? They were cut in the wall right next to my vanity with all my make up and hair products which went unprotected when the dust from the sanding was flying about. Fantastic.
Even better is the fact that this happened a month ago and yet they still haven't secured the carpet down again. So now we've got an oversized piece of tupperware filled with crap sitting on the loose carpet in our bedroom doorway to keep the dog from grabbing a piece of it and running away in the opposite direction, effectively pulling up the carpet of the entire walkway.
6. The people (again). Not just because of their dirtiness, but because they're there (or rather here) all the time. Now that we've got little Toby I find we get stopped a lot so people can ohhh and ahhh over him, which is cute and all and that part I don't mind - but I find it opens up the doors for them to tell us all about the dogs they have or had in the past and to give advice on how to train him, etc etc. I don't really like unsolicited 'parenting' advice especially from a stranger who's dog is trying to ravage my dog's butt, or who has to wear a muzzle because who-knows-why.
Also? If we go into the elevator at the same time and I ask you what floor you're on so I can press the button for you, please don't act insulted when I don't already know that you live on the same floor as me. If we haven't formally met or had some kind of shared near-death experience in one of the elevators, you just blend in with the rest of the people I see coming and going through this building. Sorry!
7. One of the items in last week's list revolved around the laziness of people who can't be bothered to dispose of their garbage appropriately. I wonder if someone on my floor reads this blog and decided to take things to an all new level because since that posting the following things were discovered in my hallway:
This would be poop. I assume canine, but who can really tell? Someone left this hairy little nugget about 2 feet away from our apartment door. Needless to say, I was not impressed given the fact that our puppy is like a Dyson vacuum and picks up EVERYTHING - poop included.
Someone actually PUKED right infront of the elevators and left it for who-knows-how-long. All I know is that it was there in the morning when I left for work (and I leave fairly early - so it may have even been from the night before), and it was still there an hour or so later when Ryan took the dog out for a walk. This is what I'm living with, people.
In addition to these two mysterious wonders, I have found dirty undergarments as well as more poop and even urine in the stairwells. Which brings me to item #8...
8. The stairwells. As much as I hate/fear the elevators, the stairwells horrify me in completely different ways. I am a clumsy person - accident-prone if-you-will. Stairs and I? We just don't get along, mostly because my legs/feet and I don't really get along - we tend not to agree on where we're going and when to go there, and so as you can imagine, this leads to a lot of falls. Falling down on an even surface is one thing. Embarrassing? Sure - but not as dangerous or horrifying as falling down stairs where I instantly invision rolled ankles or broken femurs. So normally when going down (and up, because yes - I do also fall UP stairs) I hang onto that railing for dear life. In this building though? After the things I've seen in there? I don't know that there's enough hand sanitizer in the world to protect me from whatever bacteria thrives on the stairwell surfaces. I prefer to take my chances with the elevator. I figured free-falling 6 flights is a quicker way to go than contracting some disease that will slowly eat away at my liver or something. No thanks.
Ending on a not-so-relevant note, I find it incredibly annoying when artists sing their own names at the beginning of their song - like our friend Jason derulo who sings it as if he's fantasizing about himself. In your head indeed, Jason - in your head, indeed.