The moment I walked into this apartment, I wanted it. We'd been searching for a while, but the ones we found were either too run-down, too ghetto (what passes for that here) or too short. Yes, too short... low ceilings and doorframes are common in older buildings and houses in some areas around here, and my 6'4" husband refused to live anywhere that required ducking constantly. In the last place we looked at before this one, the ceiling fan blades were at his neck level, right next to the bed. So when we found this one, with high ceilings and doorways, crown molding and century-old charm (not to mention a large bay window) I signed the lease before I even saw the rest of the place.
Ten years later, it's time to get out. Aside from previously-mentioned issues with the landlord, or rather, the landlord doing stupid things... he is a decent guy, just not sure of his reasoning... the minor annoyances have become major ones. Reminding myself "it's an old house, that's to be expected" no longer works.
For example, our water rusts everything faster than you can say corrosion. I mentioned to the landlord a few months back that the sink stopper and attached hardware were eaten through (for the second time) and we'd had to take out what was left. He said it needed a new one (obviously) but we haven't seen one yet. The toilet is getting harder and harder to flush. From day one, we've had to feather the water taps in the bathtub because they slip inside; sometimes a quarter-turn will freeze us out, others it takes a full turn to get any cold water at all. When we first moved in, the overflow drain wasn't even hooked up. It just poured water directly on the top of the downstairs neighbor's bedroom ceiling. And of course, the hot water doesn't ever last as long as anyone would like.
This brings me to yesterday's event. I was home early from work, with a sick stomach and horrible backache, and a hot bath was on my to-do list. Now, I love me some bathtime. Epsom salts or bubbles or bath oils or just hot water, doesn't matter to me. A couple times a month I forgo a shower to soak instead. I have an inflatable bath pillow and a stack of reading material ready whenever I am.
And I was ready. I got the hot water going, dumped in a happy amount of therapeutic bubblebath and settled in, planning on soaking till my toes pruned. I knew by then I'd have enough hot water built back up to rinse off. Two minutes later, my happiness turned to confusion. My precious hot water was going down the drain! Sticking my toe over the drain cover, I could feel suction. I sat up and worked the plug lever a few times, and then it stopped moving... while halfway open. I hollered for the hubby and thought fast. I did not want to be covered with soapy bubbles with no hot water to rinse off, and a cold rinse after being chilled all day sounded like the other side of hell at the time. I quickly used my thumbnail to unscrew the single screw holding the screen in the drainhole, yanked it out and jammed my heel in the hole to save what was left of the water. I'd already apprised hubby of the situation, and after he determined that he couldn't move the lever either, he ran to get a screwdriver to take it apart.
Picture, if you will, a woman with an already unstable tummy, lately prone to barfing at any given moment without warning, naked and covered with suds in a tub, wedged at one end with one foot braced against the wall and the opposite foot jammed in the drain. Add to this a man leaning in with his elbows in her lap, wielding a screwdriver, frantically taking apart the stopper mechanism, jerking the entire rusty mess out and doing... something to it, I don't know what, I was preoccupied with not barfing, but he got it moving again... and cramming it all back together without injury to either party.
We saved three inches of semi-hot water, but I still had to rinse cold. NOT happy.
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