See also:
Angry letter to my landlord about DSL, various
day logs.
Called the building
management again today.
argh.
I love my apartment. I mean really.
Coming out of the
dorm (if you don't count being
homeless) into my apartment was probably the best living situation
transition I've ever
partaken. It's
awesome; it's
secure,
spacious, somewhat
convenient, and just
nice.
I have a really
crappy shower head in my shower. There's very little
water pressure, and the
pressure that is there is
sprayed in this horrible
perfect circle that is the only spray; there's nothing within the circle
shooting water. I can barely ever get all the
soap out of my short hair. It's a
problem.
I really like the
security. There's two huge like
iron gates that you have to go through to just get into my like mini-
neighborhood within the
complex. Then there's a door to my building and my front door. All protecting me from the
trash nomads and
crackwhores on the street. And I'm all cool with the
security guards; they're cool guys. I feel basically
safe there.
My toilet
hiccups. Kinda weird really, but annoying too because it has
clogged on me (not
on me). It makes terrible
sucking sounds when it hiccups as well. It's nothing the
Draino could cure; I need a
maintenance guy to come
fix it.
My room is so big. I did claim the
master bedroom since I was living there alone all
summer, but still. I appreciate it. It's so super huge in comparison to not only the dorm, but also the room I had in
Taylorville. There's a plenty of room in the
living room as well, and although the
kitchen's a little tight in
cabinet space, it's still pretty good.
My
patio has what I've been calling a
burn scar on it. It looks like someone was cooking on a
grill and spilling a whole bunch of grease on the
balcony there and burned a little 5 inch circle into it. And the balcony's just
nasty anyway; its dirty, dark brown
paint is coming up a little, and the shitty wood it's made of is starting to come up too.
The
location of my apartment is
convenient for me and my roommates. We live in central Chicago for a very low three-bedroom rent. Sam and
me are a 10 to 15 minute train ride from school with only 2 blocks walk on top of that.
Derek's school is just a 10 minute
commute via his car. I can get on the
bus on the corner of the street where I live and go to work with only 2 blocks walk from the bus to work. It's a good location. I'm
lucky.
I called the
building management today (what all other places in the world call a "
landlord") and
complained (what else?). I requested a
work order that
Mel, this one maintenance guy was given to come and
replace my
shower head and fix the
toilet the week before last. He left a copy of the work order on my
kitchen counter, that I saw when I got home that day:
Services Requested:
Service Completed (
scrawled by Mel, the maintenance guy):
Sure. He
checked things. Didn't
fix one goddamn thing. No mail key was to be found. I called back last week and said he didn't change the shower head and that the toilet was still
hiccupping. Fine. They made another work order:
Service Requested:
Service
Completed:
Yeah. They sent
Mel. There's a fucking
army of maintenance guys and they send the
same guy. He didn't do anything
again. So I
called back today. Waited
on hold for a total I think of about
15 minutes for a 3 minute call.
Get this--
I got to talk to Mel. They fucking put him on the phone. I was like "well if I can't wash the soap out of my hair what good is a shower head?" and he just
insisted that it was fine.
Where's the
professionalism here? Part of being a big complex and not a single
fat guy owning the place is a
tinge of
respectability. Putting the
maintenance guy that a
resident is
complaining about on the phone is not
respectability. I was then told by the management that
other residents have made the exact same complaint about the shower heads. ... Um,
FIX the fucking things!!!
Now
don't get me wrong. I love my apartment. There's just some
minor problems...that's all.