I knew something was wrong because of the smell.
It hit me when I unlocked my apartment door one evening.
The smell was not “dog shat the rug” foul, nor was it “old food in the garbage” foul… it was … just foul.
Sewage foul.
And this what I found in the bathroom:
My sink exploded while I was at work. Water and pools of sludge were everywhere.
I think the proper term is “backed up.”
I went downstairs and told the apartment’s office lady. She was horrified, and explained that they fixed a clogged sink for my upstairs neighbors earlier that day.
Apparently their “fix” caused my flood.
The emergency maintenance man came and stayed for almost five hours. I never knew how awkward watching TV is with a strange 300lb man wet-vacing your bathroom.
By 11 p.m. my bathroom was back to normal and the smell disappeared shortly thereafter.
I told several of my homeowner friends about my sink mishap and they all immediately launched into their own home repair disaster stories.
As a renter, I only had to pay for new toiletries and Ikea baskets. My homeowner friends weren’t as lucky.
Maybe renting at 28 isn’t so irresponsible after all.
At least this building isn’t as interesting as my last one…
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