RIP Book Nook

It’s been raining here a lot since we moved in, which I don’t really mind, because, whatever, it could be snow. Rain, psh, NBD, I can handle you. It’s been clear the last few days, but the rain resumed this afternoon, gently but distinctly pattering down our gutters. It’s a noise I’ve gotten very used to over the last 2 weeks, so I didn’t pay much mind when the rain picked up this evening. We were getting ready to relax, watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, when the pattering got a little louder and a little less gentle and a little closer. I went out into our hallway to investigate.

One of the more charming parts of our apartment is the end of our hallway. To the right is our bedroom door, ahead is the bathroom and to the left is a little recessed area that I’ve come to know/love as my Book Nook. It’s just the right size for my bookcase, ever-so-lovingly tended by my literary neuroses. Many of my knickknacks are displayed there as well, and you know, it’s just got this whole safe space vibe. You don’t mess with my Book Nook, y’all.

Well. Apparently we had some sort of blocked drain up on the third floor of our apartment building, and rather than rooting it out, the plumber just shoved the blockage down further. Then the guy in 301 (coincidentally the Superintendent, also very redheaded) took a shower, and the apocalypse came raining down on our hallway in the form of our ENTIRE CEILING. I guess drain on the third floor was clear, and draining water had pushed the blockage down enough to where the drain on the second floor tub backed up, and when the tub overflowed, the water leaked through their floor, our ceiling. The plaster got saturated and well…I went out there, wondering if a faucet was dripping and saw water coming out of that light fixture, and thought, oh shit. As I was finishing off the tuh of the t sound, the whole kaboodle just caved right in. I’m ok, my books are for the most part ok, and our managers came by right quick to tell us there was nothing they could do until everything dried out.

The whole time we were bailing out and mopping up and dusting off, we were bright-siding the crap out of this little pickle… at least it didn’t happen later at night, at least we were home when it caved, it’s a good thing the Snuggler wasn’t in her litterbox (much of the plaster actually fell into her poop-zone).

Oh! And one of the management goons apparently is some kind of sexist douchebag (different guy than Bathing Superintendent Ginger Joel). He was pretty nice to me when we moved in, while Brian was off doing some sort of Manly Behavior, like parking the car or controlling the cat or something, he was just a little pandering, a little flirty, but you know, nothing invasive. He was all “Oh, a pretty young lady is moving in here! I’m your handyman guy!” And I was like, great, can you fix all these apartment things underlying message:because I pay rent so that I don’t have to repair light fixtures myself? I asked him to change the knob on the oven, because it was all painted over and you couldn’t read the degrees for the temperature. Brian walked in, and the guy said, and I quote, “oh good, you have a boyfriend, I won’t have to be taking care of you all the time!” But he was pretty good-natured about it, chuckling like, ha, see? I’m so tongue in cheek! I’m a feminist too! And that was the last we saw of him, until I was sloshing around my Book Nook in my rainboots.

Now, my floor was covered in about an inch and a half of used bathwater and I didn’t want to soak my slippers or my sneakers or any of my other, cuter shoes, so I put on my rainboots.  Repeat: my hallway was flooded, due to his faulty plumber. I was in my pajamas, no socks, no shoes. My ceiling collapsed before my very eyes, unleashing Superintendent Joel’s BATHWATER into my apartment. And he laughed at me! And told Brian he should get me an Army helmet or a hard hat in case I was too scared to go into the hallway! Like I couldn’t get one for myself! Hell-o, I am totally capable of managing my own safety (hence the rainboots, loser!)(and also, um, I wouldn’t need protective headgear if my ceiling wasn’t collapsing, which is totally beyond my responsibility). Also that I was “so cute” for wearing them (not ‘so pioneer wife farmer woman” which I think is more accurate) and that Brian chose well (very true, he may be sexist but the man isn’t blind y’all). The next time that asshole comes around, I’m going to wear a flannel shirt and overalls and toss some slops out the window. Psh.

I probably sound like I’m overreacting, but the guy was just so bewilderingly condescending in our interactions that I was ready to pop him one for making fun of me when again, it was raining bathwater from my ceiling. The ceiling I live under, in the building he’s managing. “Sorry you have to wear your rainboots and slop around in SuperGingerJoel’s soap scum in your hallway, rescuing the books you read and reread and cherish with all your heart” may have been a more appropriate response to the situation.

So, ick. To top it off, our apartment kind of smells like cabbage now, and we’re not sure why. All I can say is that after this little debacle, I think I’m going to calm the nerves by fondling grandma’s tablecloths and antique jam jars at the Alameda Flea Market on Saturday. Maybe find myself a vintage apron so I can at least look cute when I’m barefoot and pregnant, preparing meals for my hunter-gatherer-protector?