1 post tagged “bad repairs”

My roommate finally called our apartment’s maintenance man regarding the spidery corner of the bedroom and other significant holes in the ceiling and walls.  What “Gerry” did to fix the problems was not disappointing, not discouraging, and not at all disturbing in its lack of professionalism.  Ok, maybe it was a few of those things.  But more than any of that, Gerry’s repairs were—and continue to be—one of the funniest things about this apartment.  

To solve the problem of the giant, crumbling crack in the corner of the bedroom—the spidery fissure above my poor roommate’s bed—Gerry decided to go with caulking.  Excellent choice.  It certainly solved the problem, but now there are bulging globs of pale yellow caulk in the corner, floor to ceiling and several inches thick.  It’s as if meringue or marshmallow—or something less pleasant—were bubbling out from the walls, thick and gooey, now freeze-framed in mid-ooze.

This has inspired me to rethink my decorating tactics:

1) Don’t ignore corners as possible places for color or texture accents for the room; and

2) Consider the merits of repairs as art installations, which could serve as a charming history of the apartment for guests to view.

After all, there is no question about whether or not guests will view Gerry’s little caulking adventure; there’s no ignoring it.  When we rearrange the furniture in the bedroom, we’ll have to find something to cover the spot where my roommate’s bed is, since Gerry, in a well-meaning zeal of thoroughness, applied caulk directly to the baseboard and carpet as well.  My roommate scraped it up as best as she could, but spiders beware: the caulk in the corner isn’t going anywhere.

Except that it went all over the floor, as did bits of the two ceiling tiles Gerry replaced while he was here.  Also over my roommate’s bed, the drop-ceiling tiles Gerry replaced are a different pattern than the rest now, and he sawed a rectangular chunk out of the corner tile to allow the hot water pipes to fit through.  (I guess it would be unreasonable to shut out the spiders entirely.)  My roommate vacuumed the mess under her bed and across the room under mine, where bits of tile and miscellaneous fix-it debris had scattered during the flurry of repairs. 

Gerry’s note explains things:

HI, SORRY ABOUT ANY MESS – I FILLED THE CRACK WITH A FILLER & PUT IN NEW TILES – ALSO COVERED OLD LIGHT HOLE IN LIVING ROOM JUST IN CASE –

(I think by “any mess” he actually meant to write “the large mess,” but we’ll forgive this oversight.  He was very busy with the old light hole, looking, perhaps, to preempt any subsequent requests my roommate and I may have had.)

This brings us to the highlight of my apartment: the brilliant way Gerry covered the old light hole—“just in case.”

Like his other fixes, Gerry clearly had good intentions when he used the chunk of ceiling tile from the bedroom to cover the hole in the living room ceiling.  He meant well when he caulked it to the ceiling, being careful to use enough to make it stick, even if that caused the caulk to squish out along the edges like an overloaded PB&J.  The little spatters of caulk on the ceiling were only mild side-effects to this much-needed procedure.  And he certainly had our best interest in mind when he nailed the piece of tile in on both ends, ensuring a complete graft onto the existing tile with no chance of slippage, loosening, or complete rejection by the host.

First Apartment: Recent Repairs

But, as you can see from the picture, our best interest does not include such aesthetic luxuries as replacing an entire tile if it has a hole or finding the least obtrusive solution.  Our best interest—and I mean very best interest—is more basic than that.  It is a simple and organic line of functionality upon which the apartment must tread, gingerly, lest the caulking and nails give way.

When I first saw what Gerry had done, I said, “That is not a solution.”  I probably had my hands on my hips or snapped my fingers in an “oh no you di’n’t” kind of way (for dramatic effect).  But after looking at it for a few minutes and seeing what a clever, efficient reuse of materials Gerry came up with, I began to laugh.  I looked at the protruding chunk of tile nailed to the ceiling and laughed from my gut at the brilliance of the solution.  I looked at it and saw how beautifully it fit in with the rest of the apartment, and how natural a choice it had been for Gerry to make.

Whatever else it has going for it, I have to admit the latest fix is certainly in keeping with the whole “hovel” theme.