God, am I glad that’s over. Work can eat a bag of something unpleasant.
Unfortunately, that puts me at home, where the heat is broken. Our heat is electrically powered. Problem is, the electrician who wired our apartment was apparently a monkey with Down’s syndrome and a coke habit or something, because the breaker pops every time we try to turn it on. I am currently using my oven as the heater for the living part of the house.
The maintenance people sent someone out Monday and they I guess just stood in my apartment with their thumbs up their asses for a while and then called the property manager back to inform them that we don’t have forced air, we have individual heaters. We have INDIVIDUAL FORCED AIR HEATERS. Let’s split hairs, why don’t we. And, tell me, what difference does it make? Fix something! By the way, I got this call at nearly 5 p.m., rendering it an impossibility to get the right person for the job into my apartment to fix the problem that day.
I calmly clarified that it appeared to me to be an electrical issue, that the breaker our heaters are on can’t actually handle the current required to run the heaters. I don’t know why these maintenance people need a girl who knows jack about anything technical to diagnose this issue for them, but that was apparently sufficient information to have the chirpy girl on the phone say they would get an electrician out here as soon as they could.
24 hours later, I am using my oven as a means of heating my apartment, which is a lot less efficient as it seemed it would be from all the times I’ve forgotten to turn the oven off. I guess those times I had other sources of warmth around, like a working heater or the sun.
So a big wag of the finger to my property managers. They are on notice.