I moved into a new place I thought would be fabulous. I mean two bedrooms all to myself? Hollllaaaa! And it was the first time I was able to decorate a place just the way I wanted it, rather than be the semi-welcome guest in someone else’s place.
So why do I call it Job’s apartment when it should be called Jae’s apartment? For those who don’t know, Job is a dude in the Bible who used to live a happening life until all the worst possible things happened to him all at once. Granted, I’m still living a better life than poor Job, but still, but STILL!
The day I move in, part of the heating is broken. There are baseboard heaters in each room, but the broken one is in the living room. Okay, no biggie. I’ll just wear a few extra layers. At least the rest of the place is warm. They’ve promised to fix it, so a few days isn’t a big deal, right? (Or as it turns out a few weeks).
Did I mention the toilet also doesn’t work well? Flushing is a best out of three kind of game. Sometimes best out of five. This was also promised to be fixed and/or replaced. Remember this phrase: the squeaky wheel gets the oil. If you’re not complaining constantly, you’re not getting things done—or replaced.
So when it reached best out of ten I wrote a very angry note very angrily and within the day it was fixed. Mind you, this was a full month of putting up with this. How I made it that long, I’ll never know. And part of me wishes they hadn’t fixed it in a sense, because then I could break the contract legally.
But let’s continue…