Well, Austin finally made good on the rain. And I was enjoying it until . . .
So I’m cooking, watching Dead Like Me, looking forward to the party. It’s storming. And eventually the rain noises sound a little louder, a little closer, a little inside. So I start hunting, searching for the source of that dripping noise.
I find it on the stairs. The ceiling in my stairwell is leaking, which means there’s a leak in the attic-ish area and dammit. I grab a Tupperware and stick it on the stairs to catch the water. I call the apartment office.
Man: Thank you for calling —–. How can I help you?
Me: Hi, are there any maintenance people around today? My ceiling is leaking.
Man: Yeah, it’s raining really hard.
Me: . . . That’s right. It is. And that’s why there is a leak in my ceiling?
Man: We’ve gotten a lot of calls today about this, actually.
Man: Oh, we can’t actually do anything about it, not until it dries out.
Me: Uh . . . huh. So do you have a list of all these people that have called? Can you put my apartment number on it?
Man: Oh, no. Why don’t you just call back on Monday? We’ll take care of it then. Thanks for calling!
And then he hung up on me. I hate this apartment.