I've probably whined here before about my landlord calling me after I'm asleep to let me know he intends to do something in my flat the next day - I've repeatedly asked for 24 hours notice; it's not fair to give me ten hours, when eight of them will be spent asleep.
So...tonight, I'm in the middle of making lunch and planning to wash dishes, when there is suddenly no water. None. Nada. Zilch. In any faucet at all. Call upstairs, because while Pete and Ora are in Scotland, Kara is home, and her boyfriend is over. No answer, even though I clearly hear them upstairs. Leave irate message.
Kara calls back..."Oh, John (boyfriend)is fixing the faucet up here and we had to turn off the water. It will be off for an hour, an hour and a half."
As will mine, because, you know, there is only ONE shutoff in this entire stinking house, put there when it was built in the 1920's and never updated, even though this is a two family. (Well, maybe you don't, as I apparently didn't post the whole water saga from last fall. Trust me, I have good reason to know there is only one shutoff in the whole house. Oh wait - I did, but after the January fiasco, not the September one.).
It is 83 degrees in my flat - no air conditioning, remember?
No water, no toilets, n'est pas?
Shoot.me.now.
The only drinkable liquids in the entire house are ice cubes and a bottle of red wine.
Suddenly, that sounds very appealing.
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