First Apartment: Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

At 1:15am this morning--just minutes ago--I looked at my roommate and said, "You know, I always thought this place was crappy, but I guess you never know how crappy it really is until a ceiling tile caves in on the very spot where your bed used to be."

"Five minutes ago," she added.  We were sitting on her bed, surveying the damage.  You can see for yourself:

First Apartment: Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

It all began when I was getting into bed.  My roommate and I noticed a water mark on the drop-ceiling tile above the foot of my bed.  It was fresh; we both confirmed it was a new phenomenon.  I guess this is the first mistake we made: not calling the maintenance man immediately.  After his stellar performance on the last job we called him in for, we were less than thrilled at the thought of calling him in again.

So we went to bed.  Time: 11:30pm.

The tenant upstairs ran a bath; this was nothing unusual.  Last week at this hour, we heard a lady singing after the water stopped running.  This time, we heard the water empty about 45 minutes later, and a second bath was run.  (One just isn't enough for some folks.)  After about 15 or 20 minutes into the second bath, I heard and felt something drip on my comforter.  And again.

I sat upright and ordered, "Turn the light on--they're leaking on my bed!"

It dripped again, and I shoved my glasses on my face in time to see a yellow liquid seeping into my lovely white comforter.  "I hope that's not the toilet!" I cried.  (When you're forced out of bed by yellow liquid leaking on your comforter, your mind does not always use logical thinking skills.)  I ran to the kitchen for a pot and stood there stupidly, holding the it under the leak, shaking slightly with adrenaline.  That was the beginning.

First Apartment: Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

First Apartment: Things That Go "Bump" in the Night

This is when I decided to wake the landlord.  I have to give him credit: He did answer his phone.  He called "Gerry," the maintenance man, who dutifully assessed the damage, knocked on the upstairs tenants' door, and found a dry bathroom floor.  The problem, it seems, is with the tub drain.  (As it turns out, their toilet is right above where my pillow usually is.)  Gerry ripped down a few precarious pieces of tile and plaster, but the rest would have to wait for the morning.  He will return at 9:00am with a ladder and a plumber named Dan.

My roommate is snoring behind me, asleep on the living room couch.  I can still hear the people upstairs walking around, flushing the toilet, moving furniture (again, not unusual for this time of night, which is perhaps another story, another night--er, morning).  And here I am, proverbial pen in hand, laughing inside as I write.

I'm laughing because earlier, when I grabbed a garbage bag from the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, my hands felt something wet.  Apparently our kitchen drain has been leaking too.

Well, you know what they say: When it rains, it pours.  Sometimes they mean outside, and sometimes they mean in your bedroom.  But remember--you never know how bad it is until a ceiling tile caves in on the very spot where your bed used to be.