You guys, let me tell you that life in the Big City is just one crazy adventure after another, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Why, this very afternoon, some crazy, impromptu shit went down! Or rather, came down, I should say.
I was weekend-chillin’ in my apartment when I heard an alarming sound from the kitchen, followed by a second, even more elaborate sound. And like a fine wine, that second sound had a long finish—of pebbles bouncing on the floor, a trailing off kind of sound.
When I walked to the kitchen, I saw that a significant portion of the ceiling had collapsed!
The same spot, in fact, where only this morning I noticed a warping of the ceiling and some water stains, of which I snapped a couple of photos to send to the management company on Monday.
It’s funny in hindsight, to think I’d worried over a little warped sheetrock. So silly! That’s the folly of small thinking, amirite?
I took advantage of the adrenaline boost to make short work of the mess. I cut down the remainder of the offending sheetrock, and set about bagging everything up. Then followed sweeping and mopping. Yes, I wore gloves.
I’ve always jokingly maintained that this apartment was made of cardboard and duct tape, but I can now attest, in sooth, it is made of many things, to wit: bricks, sheetrock, and insulation of course, but also a surprising amount of topsoil, small pebbles, the odd bit of broken glass, and some long pine needles.
You might say, “Aww, that sort of thing could happen anywhere!”, but I ask you: In how many North American cities are buildings allowed to arrive at such advanced ages with so little in the way of substantial maintenance? NYC landlords know how to minimize on upkeep while maximizing on the real estate bubble, let me tell you! But I digress.
We New Yorkers know how to take these things in our stride. It’s all a part of the accepted risk of paying below-market rent in a popular neighborhood. No bigs. And indeed, think how much worse it could have been— I could have been standing at the sink when it happened!
Even worse, it could have happened in my library— the living end of all that is literary and upholstered in my little oasis! I mean, at least most things in a kitchen are waterproof and washable. The stemware in the drying rack came through unscathed, and my kitchen now has that attic smell of old wood.
For now, the adventure has subsided as I wait to hear back from the management office, and to earnestly hope that there is no rain in the forecast.