It's a lonely night on Chat Roulette. How is everyone in the world meeting the Jonas Brothers on here? Do I capitalize Brothers, was that correct? Is that the band name or is it like people referring to me and my sister Melanie as the Mel sisters? Nobody refers to us at all, but. Those boys need to go to class.
Anyway. My kitchen flooded today. I was genuinely excited to do the dishes, true blue ambition. They were piled high on account of the large pot and the dish of the slow cooker.
As I was drying a plate, I noticed a considerable puddle in the corner. I opened the far door from where the water was pouring, and followed the trail back over to the sink, beneath which the trash can (empty, I never use it) was overflowing with muggy water. I've had trouble with the drainpipe before, but I thought I could just... slide the metal ring back into place and wiggle for good measure. Worked for a while.
For a while I lost my phone. Nobody should ever talk shit about social networking sites because Facebook Chat saved my life and soon my phone rang from the crack in the front door.
I called my building manager and he said, "Your what?"
"The pipe! Maybe it's missing a nut or something I don't know!"
"The pipe? Do you mean the drain?"
I don't know if he was honestly confused or just messing with me, but he was laughing amiably.
"Something broke."
"I'll be up in a few minutes."
As I waited for him, I hid a few unclean dishes and bottles of cooking oils in the cupboard, instead of putting them where they belong in the pantry next-door. I extracted water out of the trash can with an oversized mug until it could be wedged from under the drain and emptied into the bathtub.
My building manager is extremely cool with me every time. I like him a lot, he is very easy-going and friendly, and I feel safe with him living here. Once I thought it was a good idea to walk through the scene of an angry drunk being arrested. He steered me to the left and said, "Why don't you use the backdoor, hon." I think I'm a child to Bob and that amuses him. I am a child though.
I can overcome the embarrassment of my crazy apartment if there's an emergency and I need to call him. If he was a jackass, I don't know, I'd probably just bow my head in shame and let the building flood. He was there when the water heater in my bedroom burst and soaked everything in the room, and he installed my air conditioner when I called to ask what the hell I was doing. The air conditioner is honestly the biggest emergency I've ever had in this apartment. It's brutal up here in the summertime, I have forty-two windows.
The building is a hundred years old. The hardwood floors and kitchen appliances are new, but I have the electrical outlets of primitive America. 95% charming.
As he was fixing the drainpipe, I told him I had planned to light some incense in the kitchen but then he showed up. He replied, "You do know I'm in here every three months with the Terminix guy, right? You're not fooling anybody. But thank you for opening the window." He also said the Terminix guy comments on how messy my place is, and Bob alleges that he replies, "Yeah, but it's a fun mess." He says my apartment is nothing compared to some guy's downstairs; I "just have a lot of stuff and nowhere to put it," and apparently this mystery guy is a fire hazard to us all. He said he could build some shelves for all the books consuming the corner of my living room floor.
Other than forgetting about the yams behind the toaster and creating a scene of fruit flies like something from a horror film, I'm not foul; I just put things on top of things and make precarious towers of things on the corners of every furniture piece. Watch those elbows.
It was a good opportunity to tell him how much I love it here, and how many compliments I hear about the apartment layout (not what I've done with the place) and the backyard. Just because I'm poor doesn't make the price of rent any less incredible. I should treat it better. If I can take a break in my writing to blog, I can take a break to tidy up more often. At least pull all those miscellaneous objects burgeoning from the sock drawer.
I just stood up to close the window and realized my jacket and the lap of my pajama pants are damp, which is a feeling that makes my skin crawl, damp clothes.
The church bells are ringing in the distance at 9:21 pm.
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