January 14, 2004

I herewith present a not-so-hypothetical hypothetical.

Late Friday, January 9, I heard drips of water hitting my bathroom ceiling.

“That can’t be good,” I thought.

Saturday morning, January 10, I reported the drips, along with the accompanying water damage in my bathroom, to the doorman.

“Oh, okay,” he said, adding, “I know you don’t want your stuff damaged and everything, but, I don’t know, there’s no one here now, so I’ll write it up, but I don’t know what they’ll do.”

I admit, dripping water above one’s bathroom isn’t exactly a life-or-death situation, but when prevailing temperatures are scarily below freezing, one would think that word of dripping pipes and water damage would lead any reasonable lessor to investigate the situation.

Alas, at my building at least, no.

It is now Wednesday. Midday Wednesday. And still, four days later, the building has yet to send anyone over to investigate the situation.

For all I know, the ceiling could collapse at any moment.

Not that anyone cares. Surely the building manager doesn’t, as she has yet to return two phone calls I have placed about this matter.


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