Friday, April 11, 2008

Just Gut the Place

Mold problem? Still got it.

Sopping wet puddle under the carpet in the garage room? Still there.

Daily quota of at least 5 roaches maimed? My aim is getting a lot better.

Broken dishwasher? Oh, that's a new one.

Oven that doesn't heat up? Even better.


If I wasn't so sick of moving (and if I hadn't just given away all our packing boxes), I would be getting all legal-ish on their asses and moving far, far away from this dump.

We seriously thought we were getting somewhere. Monday started off with a series of phone calls and ended with the promise of an exterminator and a handyman. Here, it's Friday and the only thing the maintenance guy has managed to do was wander across my clean kitchen floor, scuff dirt everywhere, shut the dishwasher and turn it on. And then leave. I wasn't home when he came (of course, they have a radar for that, the only time I've left the house all week). I found the dishwasher still locked shut and on the drying cycle. The friggin' idiot obviously didn't even look inside and see that there is a giant broken piece on the bottom and it's full of water. Plus, we were using it as a drying rack, so things got thrown all helter skelter and a bunch of sippy cup lids got burned up by the heating element. Those things are like gold lately around here, so that man is lucky he wasn't here for me to go off on about it.

My skin is always crawling, I'm ridiculously paranoid about the kid eating a roach, I can't use my damn oven, and I'm sick of worrying that we're going to get sick from the mold.

If I could stomach it, all the carcasses of this weekend's vermin murders would be stuck in a jar and slammed down on someone's desk Monday morning.

The husband can't do it, cause he screams like a little girl and runs away from the bastards. (Yes, I like to keep reminding everyone of that.)

2 comments:

Burgh Baby's Mom said...

What a situation to have to deal with at a time like this. Good luck with the yelling and carrying on, it sounds like the managers deserve every bit of rudeness you could possibly spew on them. I hope you're able to get out soon, or at least get some temporary fixes for a few things.

And? Your husband is a sissy. It's not like the roaches are going to suddenly grow to 12 feet tall and squish him. I hope.

Coal Miner's Granddaughter said...

Oh! I like the dead roaches in a jar on landlord"s desk idea! And? Hubby screaming and running like a girl. Can't fault him there. Although I may have to say, "I ran screaming from that scorpion like Jayna's husband!" :-)