March 12, 2007
Maintenance.
So, I took the day off from work to stick around the apartment while the handyman came to perform the city inspector-mandated repairs. It felt good to lounge around and drink coffee all morning in shirt and shorts, with an early brunch of tacos (al pastor, carne asada, & carnitas) from El Super Taco. They finally showed up around 11:30 and Antonio started doing his thang, fixing drywall cracks and installing a GFI-switch outlet in the kitchen. Then came the fun part: the outlet in the bathroom. He had problems with the damn thing the last time around, so I wasn't expecting it to be a breeze this time. I held the fort, dicking around on the computer as he and the manager hung out in the bathroom, when suddenly there was a loud popping noise, followed by the manager screaming "jesus Christ!" and leaping from the bathroom like the place was about to blow. Antonio yelled "ey-hey-hey!" and started cackling as the manager, now safe from any potential harm, nervously inquired as to whether or not Antonio was okay. Of course Antonio was fine, but the scent of slightly- burnt wiring and the incessant beeping of the smoke alarm begged to differ. Everything in the apartment was dead, and as the fans thrummed to a halt, I couldn't help but think, `hey, finally some peace and quiet'.
That of course was shattered by cursing from the bathroom and arguments over what was fucked and why and how. So what with the dead electricity, I decided that my presence was required on the couch, where I laid down and read a few chapters of "The Loser's Club". Antonio would fiddle with the outlet for a few minutes, head downstairs to the parking garage, and flip the switch on the main breaker, which would of course immediately trip itself, causing him to yell "FUCK" and have to come back upstairs. It continued like that for about 30 minutes: door close, gate slam, breaker pop, 'fuck', gate slam, door open, rinse, repeat. I lounged on the couch, reading, watching the circus act and intermittently IMing the girlfriend on my treo. Hard work. Every once in a while the smoke alarm would chirp, and I'd get up, punch the button, and plop back down on the couch, watching the cat as she laid next to the food bowl, occasionally reaching in with her paw to fish out a few kibbles of dry food.Lazy bastard. Not like I was any better, though.
Posted by Jake at March 12, 2007 03:34 PM
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