This is Plumb(er) Crazy

While cleaning my shower one day, I noticed a mildew spot on the ceiling directly above my shower head. Gross. Thinking it was from steam or condensation, I gently rubbed the spot with my Comit-filled sponge...and poked right through the ceiling. Like any good tenant, I did not immediately call my landlord. (Be honest...Who wants to call the landlord and tell him you poked a hole in your ceiling??) It wasn't a big deal until I noticed that every now and then, that indention dripped. And then the small caved in spot became a small caved out spot. And then Sheetrock started falling out tiny piece by tiny piece.

Have you ever taken a shower while dodging water drops that come from an unknown source in a black hole?

It was time to make the call.

Maintenance came to check it out and fix it, and I took pictures of the remaining hole. I took these on May 21.

And this one was taken on May 26.

I called. When I came home, they had fixed the leak and patched the hole. Which, within a few days, was soggy. I didn't call again. I was tired of calling, and at least it wasn't dripping on my head for the time being.

But then it started dripping again. So I called. Came home and a large square of my ceiling had been cut out and re-sheetrocked/etc.

I get lost in all this somewhere. At some point I called again because it still wasn't fixed, they checked it out yet again and re-did an even larger portion of my ceiling. Oh, and painted over that new portion. I was so happy to have my leak fixed that having 1/4 of my ceiling with new paint and 3/4 with nasty old paint was a relatively small thing.

Not too long after this, I noticed that I had a bubble in my ceiling. Oh, well, there's no drip. And the bubble got larger. No drip. I knew exactly what was happening, though, because sometimes the bubble was big and bulging, but sometimes it was small. Then a little drip sometimes. Then a little drip more times. Tape started coming unglued. Resulting in...a call.

{To chase a rabbit...Over the summer (?) I noticed that I had water in my hallway. A lot of water. Long water-logged story later, they tore up my carpet, jack-hammered through my floor, fixed the leak under the floor, re-cemented my floor, put in a new pad and new carpet. Part of that long story is really funny. (I've debated on telling this story to the world, but it's really hilarious.) To unclog my drains, the plumber had to come pour acid through them. I came home for lunch that day, and the plumber walked out of my bathroom and said to me...OK, wait, let me set this up. The plumber is a nice man. That said, he is a smoking, skinny, hairy, snaggle-tooth, dirty-plumber-clothes, 50-ish man. So he walked out and drawled, "Some uh that acid ate through yer pipes and got under yer sink. It ruined a box uh yer tampons." Um, OK, thank you for letting me know. Funny, too, is that it ruined other things, like toilet paper and other miscellaneous under-the-sink things, but he didn't mention any of those. Just the box of tampons.}

Back to the present. In early-to-mid December, I decided I couldn't take the dripping bubble and tape anymore. Called. Fixed. Next day...

Called again the Thursday before Christmas. The conversation went something like this...

"Hi, Charles, it's Joy Lin again. I still have a leak. I'm going to be gone for a few days next week and just want to make sure I don't come home to a flooded bathroom."

"Oh, of course. I'll have them look at it again. Are you having company this weekend? No? OK. Well, as always, thank you for your good attitude and patience."

My landlord is possibly the most absent-minded and bumbling man I've ever met. One day I watched him drive away from a gas pump while the nozzle was still in his tank. He never had a clue.

Plumber-man came, no idea what the problem is, there's nothing wrong. Which is why water pours out of my ceiling, right. Charles mentioned in passing that the plumber would come back the next Monday. I filed that info away since I knew I'd be at home that day. Monday morning, I woke up and thought, "You know, maybe I should get out of bed. I think the plumber might stop by. I'd rather not still be in bed." So I got up around 9:00. Did nothing to myself, and at 9:30 I heard keys jingle and Charles say, "Hello?" Um, did ya not see my car out front? "Hello? Can you give me a few minutes?" "Oh, OK, sorry." After putting on some clothes and wetting down my hair so it wasn't ca-razy, I opened the door to a whole host of men. I let the plumber and his assistant in, and I went to the kitchen. As they were walking down my hall, I heard the plumber say, "This is the one we had to tear up the floor in."

Yep, this is the one.

That day the plumber decided there really was nothing wrong. It must be water getting on the floor upstairs and dripping down. Really? That is your professional opinion? You honestly think the two inches of water I collect in my bucket twice a day is because of water on their floor? As my upstairs neighbors said...pretty sure they know how to take a shower by now and not get water on the floor. Never-the-less, the solution to the problem was shower doors.

Shower doors.

Water pours.

Call.

Saturday morning, I came home from being out and about. My upstairs neighbors were outside.

"The plumber is here fixing our toilet. I've been telling them for two weeks that it's the toilet! We can hear it dripping."

Out loud: "OK, good, I hope this gets if fixed. I laughed so hard when they installed shower doors for you!"

In my head: "I'm about to throw up. It's bad enough thinking about someone else's shower water dripping, but someone else's toilet water?!? That is a completely new level of bad."

Later that afternoon...Drip, drip, drip, drip. So I ran upstairs. Not to get personal or anything, but what are you doing right now? Draining bath water. So it's not the toilet. Thank You, Lord!!

Called. Plumber will come back Monday. Thanks for your attitude and patience.

Five minutes later, my toilet didn't flush right. Tried again...nope. Called. Meaning the plumber fixing the toilet upstairs and mine not working, I said, "I don't know if it's connected, but..." His response? "Probably not. I'll come check on the chain." OK, I wasn't talking about the chain being connected...I'm a girl, but I know what it looks like when the chain's not on...it was on. Whatever. He came. I was in the kitchen (uh, no, I was not going to hang out in the bathroom with him) and he said it flushed OK 3 times. Mmm, questionable. That night, I went to the basketball game. Came home, piddled around, then went to take a shower.



Bubbles in my toilet!

Fragrant bubbles.

Bubble bath bubbles.

Bubbles don't flush.

Charles: "It was no doubt the City blowing water into the pipes."

No doubt.



Plumber came. Changed the overflow thing-a-ma-jig upstairs. Call if it leaks.




It does.


I call.

He'll call the plumber.

Next day, plumber apparently came and did something because that night...no dripping...no pouring...no leak!!

Next day...





And now...


After (at least) 8 months, a ceiling. Oh, and I requested they paint the whole ceiling instead of just the new square. Which they did do.

And that night, I stood in joyous wonder gazing at a smooth white ceiling.

Ahhhh......