It Could Be Worse

That's what I've been telling myself since Wednesday night.

I got home after work and stepped into my bathroom. "What's this?" I thought.

"Why is everything wet?" I said out loud to no one in particular. I bent down to look closer. "And why is everything covered in
dirt?!" The volume of my voice increased with each exclamation. "You've got to be kidding me! What the hell IS THAT?" I hovered in and out of the doorway, wanting to believe I was seeing things, knowing something awful happened in there when I wasn't around. I pulled my roommate in to assess the damage.

"What's happening? What do you think it is? Is it from the toilet? Or the bathtub? How did it get on both sides of the shower curtain? Ew."
"I don't know. Maybe it's the ceiling?"
"But how? Where did the dirt come from?

She shrugged. I shrugged too, not without utter disgust, stuffed the soaked rug into a garbage bag and stalked out of the room. I couldn't bare actually cleaning until I had something in my stomach, so I sat down and inhaled my dinner while contemplating what I could possibly do to magically make the situation disappear. I also had to pee but that was going to have to wait too. Eventually I resigned myself to gathering up the minimal amount of cleaning supplies I had (because of course I was down the last drops of everything) and set myself to expending the day's remaining energy on cleaning to a somewhat satisfactory degree. Then I went to sleep.

12:30am I was awakened by the sound of running water. What is that? Did my faucet turn on? Is it raining outside? Where am I? I tracked the sound to my bathroom and pushed open the door. After my eyes recovered from being exposed to the burning bright light, I realized the ceiling was leaking all over my somewhat satisfactorily cleaned bathroom. And when I say leaking I mean someone upstairs turned the faucet on full blast without a sink underneath to catch the water. I danced around excitedly but slowly in my exhausted state, wondering what to do while swearing incoherently under my breath.

OmaGAD I cannot believe I'm dealing with this right now. I pay WAY too much money in rent to be woken up by a leaking ceiling. I sear to GOD I'm going to kick that man hard if I'm ever within kicking distance. WHY can't he just FIX THE GODDAM thing instead of getting those monkeys to duct tape it? What time is it? Should I call him? He won't answer. Call him and leave a desperate message. Like that will do anything. Just call.

So I ran out into the living room because my shitty sprint service doesn't work in my bedroom and made the call. Who knows what I said. Back in my room I took one last look at the bathroom, but as it didn't motivate me to do anything I shut the door and got back into bed.

5:30am I was awakened by the sound of running water again. Oddly enough, the same exact thoughts ran through my head as did the first time. What is that? Did my faucet turn on? Is it raining outside? Where am I? The only difference was this time I realized the source of the sound a lot quicker. With an angry swipe at the door I remembered to shield my eyes before surveying the indoor rainstorm. It was pouring. If I had been thinking clearly I would have grabbed my umbrella and diverted as much of the water as I could into the tub. Instead I just stood there open mouthed, staring like a teenage boy at Pamela Anderson's boobs.

Then the anger swelled and I did another little exhausted dance, trying to decide between calling my landlord again and calling a cab to take me to the airport so I could buy a one-way ticket to wherever my emergency cash could get me. The more sane but less interesting choice was made and I dialed the bastard. He actually answered and in my flustered state I managed to tell him that it was pouring in my bathroom and that I had to throw out the rug. At least one of my two points was important. I rambled angrily about it expecting him to speak when I paused, so when he didn't I kept going until finally I ran out of breath.

His response? "Is it still leaking?"
My retort: "it's like someone turned on a faucet."
"Ok," he says like I'm putting him out, "I'll send over my guys."

Gee thanks dickhead.

And so I shuffle back to my bedroom and once again get into bed. Listening to an indoor rainstorm does one of two things: It can rock you to sleep when it comes from an electronic listening device, or it keeps you awake with thoughts about what can be salvaged from the wreck after the storm is over. I wondered pointlessly when his 'guys' would show up and tried unsuccessfully to go back to sleep.

7:30am I decided to take a few things out of the bathroom so the monkeys didn't use/dirty/destroy them, when suddenly the storm hit again. There really isn't anything less fun than being doused with water from an unknown human source. I screamed like the girl I am and ran out of the bathroom. It would be a lot funnier if I was reading this about someone else. Eventually it slowed down enough so I could remove stuff from the room, as well as outside the room in the event that they broke a pipe and godforbid the place flooded.

8:30am said monkeys finally showed. One guy knocked on the door and peeked his head in.

"Is the dog still here?"

I thought to myself, still here? My deductive skills lead me to the conclusion that you've already BEEN here once today and LEFT because you were scared of the DOG. However, both me AND my roommate have been here ALL MORNING and not once did we hear knocking or the doorbell. All of these details pretty much make me hate you right now because I can't shower before I have to go to work, nor can I pee without feeling like the ceiling might explode on me.

I led him and monkey #2 back to the bathroom and let them get started. Monkey #1 was so freaked about the dog we had to keep him in my roommate's room. He seriously looked like he would leave again if we didn't.

All I have to say is, nothing compares to hearing a monkey sing "Afternoon Delight" at 8:30 am. Nothing.

Luckily, or unluckily for my roommate, she was taking a sick day anyway, so she could keep an eye on them as they worked. I headed off to work, pipe dreaming for a brand new bathroom when I returned, knowing it'd be a miracle if it was functioning at all.

When I did return later that evening, equipped with all kinds of cleaning supplies, my roommate filled me in on the happenings. I ventured into the bathroom to look and was absolutely delighted to find the tin square the original monkeys put up when they fixed the leak a year ago, was back in place with more rust stains than before and less screws to hold it in place. It adds that certain deserted factory feel everyone covets in a bathroom. Even though I wasn't completely convinced the leak was even temporarily fixed, I spent the next couple hours burning the hairs in my nose while stripping the room of any dirt and germ related things, living or dead.

At the moment, the leak is allegedly fixed with some kind of putty, but all that really means is in another couple months I'll have a very similar story to tell about my bathroom ceiling leaking, only next time it will end in tragedy. I have nothing against monkeys, but their keepers? That's another story.