The Landlord Would Rather Be Huntin’

At about 7:15 this morning I heard the VCB* roll out of bed and the next thing I knew he was talking to someone at the back door. After what seemed like a couple of minutes he came back to say that the new window we’ve been waiting on since before we moved in is now ready to be installed. Thankfully, the VCB told them that it would have been helpful if they’d tried to contact us beforehand in some way. They then asked when it would be more convenient and the VCB told them his day off was Wednesday. He knew it would be a big job, and the window crew, I think, agreed to that time.

I mumbled something about “good job” and went right back to sleep. Until 45 minutes later when there was this pounding on the back door. Once again the VCB rose and dressed and was told, this time by the landlord, that the window should be put in as soon as possible. Somehow, they agreed on the window puter-inners coming back at 9 a.m. This morning.

This morning when I was the scheduled on-call person, which means in case someone is dead, missing or injured, I get to come to work. This never happens. Not to me anyway. Anyway, I got up and got dressed and waited for the window workers to arrive, praying I don’t have to go to work today. I don’t call work to find out if I’m needed until 10:30. So, I wait.

And wait, and by 10:30 there is still no window crew. I make what I think will be a brief call to work, only to discover that D. has just not shown up. And isn’t answering her phone. Which is very unlike her. She’s been out of town and was probably just confused about her schedule. So, now I have to redress and look presentable enough to wait on tables who are making plans for their upcoming CMT video.** In, like, 15 minutes. So, I call the VCB and ask him to please call the landlord to let the window crew know that no one will be at home to let them in when they (finally) arrive. The VCB calls me right back to say the landlord told him they wouldn’t be coming until tomorrow. Obviously, the VCB expressed his frustration that we had never once been contacted about any of this, especially the change in days.

Fuck me, was I hot.

How inconsiderate. How totally rude. How terribly inconvenient.

And that has sort of been the story of our new, lovely little apartment. It’s freaking adorable. Seriously, it has so much charm. But we’ve been fucking brushing our teeth in the KITCHEN SINK since we moved in. 2 weeks now. There was a drip in the pipes in the bathroom sink, the VCB noticed, on Day One. So, we immediately informed the landord of the leak and he gave us the number of a plumber, who would come out at our convenience, which naturally, the landlord would pay for.

Well, they did send someone out–Carl–and it was convenient AND he called first, but Carl’s charms ended right there. I showed him the leak and then offered him water or coffee (french pressed, even!) if he wanted it. To which he grunted and got to work. Fine by me.

So, I go to the bedroom to read or put away shit or whatever when suddenly I heard a loud, “GODDAMMMIT!” Followed a few minutes later by a boisterous, “SON OF A BITCH!” It is at this time I make my way toward the bathroom. And what I saw was Carl in the floor and what looked like shit all over the floor and walls. Carl then informed me that these old iron pipes are to old to fit the part he had so he had to go look for another one. He’d be right back.

And he was. He came back and proceeded to scream more curse words from the bathroom. He left again in search of another piece that might fit. He returned victorious. But, it turns out, Carl could not win that day. A good hearty “FUCK!” later and I knew that piece also did not fit. He tried to show me how the Somethings in the One Thing didn’t reach down far enough to catch the Whatever, because it is old and crusty. Carl informed me there might have to be a whole new sink installed.

And that was about two weeks ago. I mopped up Carl’s huge mess that afternoon, but the busted pipe still lies in the floor, unfixed. Which has been quite the hassle. None so much as the night the kitchen sink drain backed up into the gaping hole in the wall in the bathroom sending soapy water and wet noodles onto the bathroom tile. That was SO MUCH FUN.

AND the bathroom window was painted shut, AND you can’t toast anything and watch TV at the same time, AND I think there might be mold, I’m all sneezing and itchy-eyed all the time.

I’m pretty sure there is something near here that leaks lethal radiation that will bring the VCB*** and I a three-dicked, scaly newborn, but MY GOD is this place cute.

*I may start calling him something else. He’s outgrown that silly nickname.

***Definitely got to get rid of that “VCB” nickname.