I was slightly put-out.
You see, we knew that Thursday was to be our day for having our linoleum replaced--a fact that I was not displeased about--but this was contrary to all of our experiences with maintenance. They had posted a flyer on our door telling us what day to expect, and something about an information meeting, but the meeting was at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon, which is impossible for most people who have classes or jobs to make. We didn't bother about it, because what questions would we have? I had planned on making breakfast, cleaning out the pantry, and maybe seeing the workers in passing as we headed out to school. They'd replace our floor, everything would be fine.
But no. No, it was not fine.
Mike threw on some shorts, went to the door, and found the whole crew of linoleum guys waiting anxiously for us to get out of the apartment. He made some attempt at "we haven't even showered yet," to which the oh-so-compassionate gentlemen replied, "if you hurry, you'll be able to shower before we unplug your water heater." All this while I'm hiding in the bedroom in my garments, in shock at their callousness.
So, we tried to hurry. We were in the shower for ten minutes between us--Mike went in for five minutes, then I took a turn--but no sooner had I lathered up my head in shampoo than the water instantly became so cold it felt refrigerated. Doubtless it was my scream of insatiable rage that caused them to plug it back in for me, but they still sent Mike in every 30 seconds or so to say, "are you done yet?"
So to recap: we were woken up, my kitchen was destroyed by a bunch of dirty, disgusting footprints and gloves, I had to shower with a bunch of strange men in my apartment, AND they unplugged the water heater on me. Then, after I had hastily dressed and packed up, Mike and I had to leave for school without breakfast or packed lunches (=not good for our budget). I felt completely violated, like just because we're poor student renters, they could throw us out or subject us to any kind of indecent situation they wanted.
So I wrote a letter. And this was not the I'm-so-furious-I'm-going-to-spill-my-wounded-bleeding-heart-all-over-the-page-and-send-it-to-you kind of letter. No, this one took me an hour to write, making sure there were no excuses or loopholes they could find in it. No, this was one furious letter. It felt really good.
After all this happened, and I had related my experience to some friends who were about to go through the same experience (but with warning this time), they told me about someone else from our quad who had told the linoleum guys that his baby was still asleep, that building quiet hours were until 8, and then slammed the door in their face. Amen, brutha.
Today, Mike got home before I did, and texted me at work saying someone from the Wymount Office had hand-delivered a letter for me. When I got home, I discovered a very apologetic letter with two coupons for a free half-gallon of ice cream at the Creamery. I don't want to say I wrote the letter for the ice cream, but it sure was vindicating. :)
Mostly I hope they just stop doing that. If they're on such a tight schedule, they should put ON THE FLYER that they're coming at SEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Give people a chance to save their own humanity. Geez.
Sorry, guys. Writing this a little of my terrible anger is returning, just remembering how violated I felt. I hope this makes any horrible landlord situation seem a little better in comparison with mine. :)
