BAM BAM BAM
This is not how my morning was supposed to go.
Or, I guess it was supposed to go this way, but it’s not what I would have planned.
Wednesday night I came home to a note from my apartment complex. The annual state inspection took place. (Usually this means that I will be receiving a nice recap indicating that they didn’t find lead paint in the apartments. Possibly that they found trace amounts on some outdoor surface, and will be repainting same. Whether there were any safety violations. It’s usually sort of a non-event for me.)
In this case, they have to replace my apartment door. No, wait. Let me be more precise. They have to replace the door, jamb, frame, hinges… the whole kit and kaboodle.
They don’t say why, but I can guess. Even assuming there’s no lead paint (if the door has lead paint I’m sure the whole place does, so I sincerely hope it doesn’t), my door is a problem. It’s off balance, or not square, or something. My door gets off kilter as if someone were HANGING on it regularly, pulling it out of whack (not the case, unless there are gremlins here when I’m at work). Such that every so often they have to rehang the door. Because after a while it starts to get to where, if my neighbors have a welcome mat in the hall, my door won’t clear it. And then it gets to where if there’s a piece of paper on the floor in the hall, my door won’t clear that, and I can become a prisoner. And then it gets to where they have to redo the linoleum floors in the hallway because the door will start to scrape them.
All that WAS true, until last year when they finally realized that hanging and rehanging the door wasn’t working, so the last time they got a little creative. They replaced the linoleum. And rehung the door. But first, they shaved a good inch off the bottom of the door.
They didn’t even do a good job of it. The bottom of the door looked, well, cut. Even a bit frayed.
I made the call about it, but… well. I wasn’t afraid of being trapped in my apartment any more. Which is actually kind of a win. And while not pretty on close inspection, that door is downstairs, away from what I consider my living space. If they didn’t jump all over getting that resolved, it was not quite as big a deal to me.
Apparently, it was a big deal to the state. Or something was. In any case, according to the nice note, they would be replacing everything on Friday. I didn’t need to be there for it, but was welcome to be…
But, wait, Gringita… isn’t it Saturday?
Why, yes! You are correct. I came home from work on Friday, and had my same old door. There wasn’t even a note to tell me what happened.
I was really glad I didn’t take a day off to be there for the non-event. Because then I would have been really mad. You do not want to be messing with my days off.
You know, unless by “messing with my day off” you mean that a little before 8 on Saturday morning, there will be men at my doorstep, a day later than expected, wanting to tear a hole in my apartment.
Which makes it good that I happened to wake up at 7. And that I happened to hear them setting up outside, so I could happen to get myself showered and dressed before the buzzer sounded to let me know construction was about to begin. Oh yeah, and that the ladies happened to decide to meet in the evening at the church office, rather than here, this morning, at 8AM, as I originally expected.
Which happens to sound like I believe in coincidence, which I really don’t.
In any case, right now there is the wide world of construction noises happening downstairs. My door is off, and the outside door is propped open (the entryway/hall between the doors is just about large enough to comfortably hold one person, if they aren’t holding anything bulky).
So I’m up and about way earlier than I would have planned for. And it’s WAY colder in here than one could describe as comfortable.
And this is not how my Saturday was supposed to go. Except that apparently, it is.