Friday, July 27

I should move

If I happened to be in charge of an old apartment building and one of my tenants told me she'd tried to change a blown fuse — in a fusebox in the very small wood-lined closet — and the damn thing sparked and popped when she touched it, I would probably fall all over myself trying to get someone out to have a looksee at the problem.

Clearly I'm not cut out to manage anything, though.

The electrician won't be coming until Saturday afternoon. Which, if I had to place a bet, means Monday.

I'm a patient person (okay, kind of), and when I talked to my landlord yesterday afternoon, I told him I had no problem with waiting until today (Thursday) for him to get a professional out to look at it since it was acting so weird. I joked that I could do without my TV until then. Which I can. But fuck. Saturday ain't Thursday, and it's not just my TV that's on the fritz. It's everything that plugs in in all rooms but the kitchen and bathroom.

I really like my apartment, but I swear. It's always something. Wiring problems, phone problems, cable problems, plumbing problems, parking problems, leaks, mold, AC issues, stupid-ass drunk neighbors, etc. I know you can and will have those issues anywhere (and I know that this issue was technically my fault for letting heathen animals run loose in the place). But it seems like it takes a long time to get things taken care of here. I'm not saying my landlord is a bad guy; quite the contrary. He's very nice. It just seems like he's got so much on his plate that he's never really able to get to my issues in an acceptable amount of time. And I'm too fucking nice to bitch-wrangle him into prioritizing my problems above all else he's dealing with. I mean, remember this? Maybe it's time to move on.

Of course, now that I think about it, both places I've lived in Memphis have given me unbelievable trouble (Lynnfield was a carnival of fun home repairs). Time for lucky No. 3?

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