Because I am a functioning adult, I woke up at 10:30 this past Friday morning because maybe I have decided that Fridays are part of the weekend (they are not). I had a cryptic voicemail from the manager of my apartment complex. She said they needed to get into my apartment to see if there was water damage because of a supply line break in the building, among other things I did not understand because I am not very good at mechanics and architecture and plumbing.
I walked around my apartment testing the carpet, barefoot, with my phone in my hand, ready to tell her all was well. But then my foot squished into watery carpet near the kitchen. And then I saw a puddle by the stove. And then I saw the rug that I am way too sentimental about several shades darker. I pressed on it with my toe and it was majorly soaked.
So a couple minutes later the maintenance guys are in my house. And they are very nice, but as for me and my house, we do not enjoy company strangers in the house when we are in our pajamas. Leggings, long-sleeve oversized t-shirt, glasses. A mess. And I was helping them unload books (that I had just organized) from a bookshelf, putting my kitchen table’s chairs into my bedroom. And they immediately did this:
BUT I promise…
Then I momentarily kicked them out because hello, I NEEDED TO SHOWER. The floor could wait. They were fine with it, but in my head I sounded like this:
And I went and hunkered down at Portland Brew and the Curb Center for the rest of the day. When I got back at five or so, this:
You guys. I cannot tell you how much I wanted just to shut the door, get in my car, and drive anywhere else. But I only sort of did that. I did get in my car and sit there for a bit like
Ultimately, I drove to my friend Julia’s house and stayed there for the night. I went back home that next afternoon, cleaned the kitchen table (which was, as you have seen, in the living room), pulled up the book chair to it and sat there for a good long while.
And I promptly left the next morning for the Q Women Conference all day in Franklin. I am an expert at avoiding maintenance issues. When I got home, the carpet guy was still there, but I plopped down in the book chair anyway and did not smack him when he kept calling me ‘doll.’ (Really? Not ever necessary.)
Now my furniture and everything is back in its place and an otherworldly calm has descended upon the apartment. Soon enough it’ll be funny and I’ll start making jokes about floods and arks and animals, but for now, I have never been happier for my things to be in their places and for no one to be traipsing through my home with Shop-Vacs. Back to normal…