handymen
Maybe it has something to do with the way I greet them - surprised, completely unprepared, unshowered and in my pyjamas. Woo! It's terrible actually. I should be ashamed! I am, but just a little.
At first I was also embarassed by the state of the flat. I tried to keep it tidy... but when the ceiling is collapsing and the soot is falling everywhere, it gets to the point where you just give up.
If you haven't already guessed, the old kitchen ceiling leak is turning into quite the fiasco. Not only has it drawn on for weeks now, but just when we think the whole ugly debacle is almost over, the downstairs neighbour knocks on the door and reports a leak in HIS ceiling. And demands it gets repaired by tomorrow. Ha! Good bloody luck, bastard. Even more annoying when you remember that it was the renovations in HIS flat that caused our entire wall to crack. Grrrr...
Anyway, the real tale here has to do with Wednesday. If you recall (if I mentioned? probably...) the sketchy electrics in the wall near the leak made a scary noise and popped off when I attempted to turn on the hot water heater a few days previously. So there I was, lounging around in my pyjamas getting ready for Neighbours, not having showered properly for two days, when the doorbell rings. Fuck. It was a plumber. Hmmm.
I let him in. He was much more professional looking than the other random schmucks who have been round recently. He had a bright blue jumpsuit and a badge. Woo! Maybe something would finally get settled! Same mumbling manner, though. I could hardly understand him. Just when I think I've got the Scottish accent down, I meet another handyman.
He was pretty old, this plumber, and a bit abrasive at first. But I eventually broke him down, what with my charm and American accent... and probably the pure time element, as we were together for hours on end. Oh yes.
This was not a simple problem. Not only were the pipes located in the most inaccessible place - tucked under the eaves of the roof, deep inside the wall, behind the water heater, which was itself in a cabinet recessed into the ceiling - but there were eight of them, including the most confusing conglomeration of water mains he had ever seen. There were apparently two mains, and two subsidiaries, all four connected at one spot in the middle of the attic, the most ridiculous, nonsensical setup, and a bitch to sort out. While trying to find the pipe responsible for the mess, and its origin, he accidentally turned off one of the mains (before realising there was more than one) and spent another 45 minutes trying to figure out why there was no cold water in the house.
In the meantime, I'm trying to keep him company, and fill the awkward silences, and give him tea. And he's trying to teach me about plumbing and explain other fun things, like the dynamics of load bearing walls. Mmmm. Also, his hearing aid battery starts going off in this high pitched squeal that hearing aid wearers never seem to hear, and I wonder if I should say something or just pretend not to notice.
Eventually he isolates the problem and goes to fetch a replacement pipe - struggling up and down the four flights several times, panting horribly each time he returns, poor old thing! - but realises he'll need help, as he has to feed it through the eaves in the attic down into a tight hole in the wall. He phones a plumber friend and we wait awkwardly for him to arrive. The landlord appears in the interim, and the two of them have a chat about the problem. The landlord is relieved to learn it is a water main leak, and thus a communal repair, meaning he can share the financial burden among all eight flats in the building. He takes advantage of the plumber's presence to quiz him on other household matters, and asks his advice on other aspects of the problem, like how to fix the electrics, wall and ceiling. The plumber wisely advises getting an electrician and joiner in, but I can practically see the wheels moving in the landlord's head, and he'd thinking of enlisting the help of his unqualified friends to do the jobs. Cheapskate. The plumber also points out the discoloration and slight cracking along half the ceiling, radiating from the hole already cut out to relieve the leak, and suggests he gets that looked into as it will surely collapse. The landlord "mmmmms" and I can tell he's planning on doing the bare minimum here and won't even bother.
As soon as the landlord leaves - "Well, I better not keep you talking any longer as I'm paying by the minute, eh? Ha!" - the plumber gave me a sympathetic look and rolled his eyes. "Pretty tight with his money eh?" Mmmmm hmmm. I bitched a bit about the state of the flat, and he told me about how his wife had cancer for three years and he only recently returned from retirement to cover expenses. Aww! Poor Angus!
Eventually his friend arrives - another blue-suited, white-haired pensioner and I leave them to it, glad to escape to the living room for a little respite. No sooner do I turn on the television than I hear a loud bang in the kitchen! I run and discover both men covered in plaster. A large chunk of the ceiling - exactly where Angus had pointed out his warning to the landlord - had collapsed ! And some of it on Angus's head as he was on the ladder, pulling out the pipe! Luckily he was okay, and Richard's computer as well, though the kitchen table and most of the floor was covered. It was a disaster zone. He suggested we clear the area as fast as possible, as more was likely to come down, and I hurriedly relocated most items from the kitchen, nearly filling the already cramped living room. Meanwhile, Angus quickly secured the new pipe and his friend started sweeping the biggest bits of ceiling into the centre of the room. When all was clear, Angus told us to stand back, while he grabbed a broom and forced more of the ceiling down.
The whole thing was a bit scary, and I felt terrible that Angus was put in the line of danger! He said he was just glad it hadn't happened while I was home alone, sitting at the table. Aww, bless.
When he was confident the worst of the ceiling collapse was over, Angus started to clean the place up, and refused to let me help. His old friend snuck away at about this point, leaving the two of us alone again. On one hand I was sad to see my new friend go. On the other, I was anxious to get the hell out of there. I really wanted a shower, but didn't have time, as I had made plans with Lucy and was to meet with her within a matter of minutes. So I boiled the kettle and washed in the basin, dressed, and ran off, texting Richard to warn him about the state of the kitchen and suggest he get takeaway for dinner.
I was well ready for a drink after all that drama, and luckily Lucy provided. We got cinema tickets, then went to a tackly theme pub for some surprisingly good grub. After the film, which was brilliant (yay Ben Lee... acting!), we went out for a few drinks at this quiet bar/restaurant near the train station. It was a nice relaxing time, until a crazy drunk woman decided to stare me down for a full five minutes, then join us, asking if we were on a date, insisting that we should be... yeah. Hmmm. We thought it quite funny, if not a bit creepy. I ended up staying out much later than I expected, but it was good to go out, and without Richard for a change. That sounds terrible, but you know... it's good to maintain separate identities and all that, isn't it? Yes, definitely.
So that was Wednesday. Since then, we've been living in very close quarters, which is beginning to take its toll. I was secretly glad to be leaving for a few hours on Friday night to do another subbing shift. It was my busiest one yet! And they trusted me with rugby. Wow. Afterwards, Richard and I went out for a late bite to eat, just to get out of the house, and last night we were at the Woodside again for Winchester. I wasn't that keen to see either of the bands - I get so restless at gigs these days - but I was glad to be socialising. Also, the Dot to dot demo was delivered, and we got to dance to the new recordings, which was pretty exciting. Afterwards, we trudged to Matt's to listen to it a few more times, then headed home exhausted at about 4 am. This morning it's been french toast and lazing about, killing time until pub quiz. Mmmmm.
It's gonna be a long week. No shifts. Nothing to do until my job interview early Thursday morning. It's for a part-time publications assistant job for some community forum on the south side. I'm not too sure about it. Seems an awful lot of effort, for only 10 hours a week. I'm not even sure how to get there, but I know it's out of the way. And there's a "task" involved in the interview! Ack! What is it with these tests? Whatever happened to the usual interview in which you could white lie yourself into a position? Hmph.
