Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Love Letter* to my Apartment
Dear Apartment,
I hate you. Please die a death of a thousand suns. Which is almost how hot it is in you RIGHT NOW. Which is only the first of my complaints, so grab an iced tea and have a seat.
First of all, who ever said the fifth floor was a good idea? Me? Oh right, that was me. Why did I say that was a good idea? Because we wouldn't have upstairs neighbors stomping around overhead? Guess what I didn't ever think of, and wouldn't have thought of, ever.
Air conditioning vent thingys. And wind. What do I mean? I mean that the million-mile-per-hour wind, which we get out here in no-hills-for-miles-ville, apparently knocks over the air conditioning vents and plays soccer with them. All over the roof. All night. So at 1am, we get *RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE* one way, then *RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE* the other, for hours. Until some maintenance guy finally gets up there to tie it down or nail it down or whatever has to be done with it until the next gust of wind comes along.
And then there's the elevator. Oh yeah, top floor. Elevator. Which we figured, brand new building, brand new elevator, surely it shouldn't have any problems, right? Right. As soon as the temperature outside hit, oh, 75 degrees, the elevator started overheating. Every other day. Usually right when I got home from the grocery store with a trunkload of frozen groceries and laundry detergent. Woot! Four flights of stairs, here I come.
So today, just when I'm supposed to talk to the apartment management about moving down to the second floor (which, for all intents and purposes is the first floor), and most in need of a little goodwill, our washer breaks spectacularly. So we get to call in a maintenance request right when we're waiting for approval to transfer our lease.
Oh yeah, and that air conditioner that we've been informed can only maybe bring the apartment down a few degrees at the best of times, unless we put up blackout curtains (which, um, yay, I love working in total darkness all day every day)? Just the icing on the cake, really.
No love,
Me.
*Which is to say, Not
I hate you. Please die a death of a thousand suns. Which is almost how hot it is in you RIGHT NOW. Which is only the first of my complaints, so grab an iced tea and have a seat.
First of all, who ever said the fifth floor was a good idea? Me? Oh right, that was me. Why did I say that was a good idea? Because we wouldn't have upstairs neighbors stomping around overhead? Guess what I didn't ever think of, and wouldn't have thought of, ever.
Air conditioning vent thingys. And wind. What do I mean? I mean that the million-mile-per-hour wind, which we get out here in no-hills-for-miles-ville, apparently knocks over the air conditioning vents and plays soccer with them. All over the roof. All night. So at 1am, we get *RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE* one way, then *RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE* the other, for hours. Until some maintenance guy finally gets up there to tie it down or nail it down or whatever has to be done with it until the next gust of wind comes along.
And then there's the elevator. Oh yeah, top floor. Elevator. Which we figured, brand new building, brand new elevator, surely it shouldn't have any problems, right? Right. As soon as the temperature outside hit, oh, 75 degrees, the elevator started overheating. Every other day. Usually right when I got home from the grocery store with a trunkload of frozen groceries and laundry detergent. Woot! Four flights of stairs, here I come.
So today, just when I'm supposed to talk to the apartment management about moving down to the second floor (which, for all intents and purposes is the first floor), and most in need of a little goodwill, our washer breaks spectacularly. So we get to call in a maintenance request right when we're waiting for approval to transfer our lease.
Oh yeah, and that air conditioner that we've been informed can only maybe bring the apartment down a few degrees at the best of times, unless we put up blackout curtains (which, um, yay, I love working in total darkness all day every day)? Just the icing on the cake, really.
No love,
Me.
*Which is to say, Not
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