Setting the scene,…
It all began early one morning about 2 weeks ago. The youngest three children had headed out the door to their big yellowish-orange limousine bus, off to further their educations. Ashley and Donovan, being too cool for the mode of transportation of the younger social set, had left in the far cooler wheels of Ashley’s boy toy, Dan. I was alone, alone with the peace, the quiet, the coffee, and Facebook. There was a sudden “whoosh” of sound, emanating from the end of the hall at the other end of the palace apartment. Little did I know at that precise moment what the impact of that sound would mean in the coming days weeks,…
What the “whoosh”?
I lept from my chair and tore down the hall. About 6 feet from the master bath door, I stopped abruptly, shocked at the scene before me. My ceiling outside the bathroom was raining pouring. Just seconds into the flood and it was flowing over my flip flops and feet as I stood, rooted in place. Finally, I was able to move again and I dove through a wall of water into my bathroom and flicked on the light. The storm was raging in that room, pouring from the ceiling in a dozen places. I was instantly qualified to be a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest and my formerly cute hair looked like a drowning rat stuck on my head. Splashing as I did, I whirled about and ran down the hall and out the front door. Skipping steps, I tore up the stairs to the door of the apartment above. She opened the door, I told her that her bathroom was causing my apartment to be in need of an ark. She unthinkingly slammed the door in face, in a tear to reach her own bathroom. This would have been fine,… if I hadn’t been taking a step in as she slammed it, causing my nose to become an inadvertant door stop. Lovely. I told her to turn off the water and call the maintenance people and I returned to the floodlands below.
Two hours later, and lots of drama, the flood finally ebbed. It was at this point that the maintenance guy Wayne and I noticed something disturbing, especially since we were both soaked. The water pouring through the ceiling,… was not clean. Yes, it was poop and pee infested water. And we were covered in it. I fought the urge to vomit, but really,… what difference would it have made at this point? By the time the water was wet-vac’d upstairs, the water was wading depth in my bathroom. It had flowed about 6′ into the bedrooms on either side of the bathroom and another 12′ down the hall. When you walked,… there was a lovely squelching sound and the disgusting water flowed over your feet. Delightful. At this point, my husband got permission to leave work and come home, knowing this was going to get worse. He was right.
From the moment Wayne entered the Poop Storm fallout area, he had been trying to get ahold of Slum Lord, conveniently out of the office and in a meeting. Apparently, he was incapable of answering his phone, calling us back or figuring out from the sheer number of calls that there was some sense of urgency. The Storm broke out at 0730 and it was 1630 before the a$$hole Slum Lord managed to return the calls. By this time, the fallout area had been wet-vac’d at least 4 times and was still flooded in standing poop water. Good times. And the maintenance guy is severely limited in what he can do without authorization. So it sat all flippin’ day, a hot day, with a couple of somewhat ineffective industrial fans to feebly attempt to dry out the mess beneath the carpets. By 1630, my hellhole apartment smelled like the ass end of a camel,… times 10 to the 10th power. It was evident to anyone with a working brain cell that the carpets in the bedrooms and the hall would have to be removed, but Slum Lord felt that neither Wayne or I had the capability of realizing that so refused to let it be removed without His Say So. At 1730, His Royal Pain in the Ass showed up, declared it a loss. Well, no shit. Really? We basically wasted 10 hours that could have been spent fixing the damn mess. Now, mind you, not only was the smell overpowering and the mess unreal, but there was the added problem of the fact that I am thoroughly, completely, and totally allergic to mold and mildew. And having this kind of standing water in the carpets, the walls, the ceilings is not a good thing for my overall well-being when combine with heat and low venthilation. By the time, Slum Lord made his Royal Decree, I was fighting the Vomit Monster.
It was decided that both back bedrooms and the hall would have to have the carpets ripped up and replaced, as well as the floors in both bathrooms. Delightful. On top of all that, he decreed that Wayne would be there at 0800 the next morning to tear up the carpets. Mind you, it was almost 1800 at this point. That meant we had 14 hours to totally move EVERYTHING out of both bedrooms and both bathrooms,… all while trying to live there AND with the nasty carpets still in place. We ended up with the big stuff in the empty apartment across the hall, and small stuff in the other bedrooms and the living room. It was like living in hell until the carpet and linoleum people were supposed to arrive Monday morning.
Which didn’t happen. No, instead they showed up at 1630. And my muscle Corey had had to take that day off, too, presumably to help me move the furniture back in. So my time to use him have his help was quickly running out since he had to be back at work the next day. But, as was to be expected,… things continued to go downhill. In order to install the lineoleum, the toilets had to be removed. When they did, the bolts holding them to the walls broke, rendering the toilets (very old models) virtually incapable of being reinstalled. So Wayne headed to the Toilet Showroom (or just the local hardware store) and purchased two new thrones. And that wasn’t the end. In one of the bathrooms, the discovered that the wall behind the throne was rotted out,… the result of the 4 (yes, 4) floods I have experienced since moving into this place. So, even once the floor was done, the new throne could not be put in place until it was fixed,… the next day. So I ended up with a toilet in the tub. Very helpful.
However, the smell didn’t go away. Slum Lord wouldn’t allow the ceiling in the master bath to be pulled down and replaced as it should have been. So instead he made Wayne replace the now shorted out vent fan and decided that would work. NOT!! And then the real fun began. Mold and mildew began to form on the ceiling at an alarming rate, spreading across the ceiling like it was fire. I would clean and clean and spray with mold and mildew killer and within hours it was back,… in full force. I haven’t been able to be in there for more than 5 minutes without fighting the Vomit Monster. The Slum Lord’s attitude? Oh, well. He could care less. Wonderful. So my husband took the bull by the balls and “powerfully” insisted that it be fixed. So, Slum Lord agreed,… and then did nothing about it. Until I ran into Wayne yesterday and he took up the crusade in the absence of the hubs. Now I have no ceiling, it has been sprayed with anti-bad stuff that is making me stoned as hell. Tomorrow I shall have a new ceiling, it will be mudded and plastered and painted, as will my entire bathroom. About friggin’ time. I ♥ Wayne.
And there ends,… we hope, the Poop Storm of 2010.
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