When I first moved here, everything was pretty good. Well, my dad hated the place and thought I was living in a crime-infested slum because he saw someone look at him while he was carrying my furniture in because, you know, everyone just sees furniture being hauled across a lawn and pretends it isn’t happening. Oh, and some guy told him there’s drug dealers and prostitutes all along the back streets. Now, if they’re there, I haven’t seen them, and if they’re there, they’re doing business frighteningly close to a Catholic church, a Catholic school, the public high school, and another apartment complex with “drug free” sign on it.
In reality, I haven’t had a problem here. Most of the people in this building are senior citizens or colleges students. I had a more legit close call on Mt. Washington last year when a neighbor was all pissed off and hustling down the sidewalk after he saw some kids trying to get into unlocked cars.
A lot of people on the internet hate this apartment, too, and say that maintenance is terrible and they have all these problems that have taken months to fix. Now, maintenance hasn’t been quite as fast as I would like sometimes, but I also haven’t had a serious problem. Still, they’re not bad enough to warrant one-star reviews. They took a little while to get me my stove, but I moved in the same week I found the listing, which is probably when the listing went up, but furnace trouble I had was fixed almost immediately.
At some point, I noticed having enough hot water for a bubble bath was rare, and some mornings, someone apparently on the same schedule as me used all the hot water before I could take a shower at all. It got worse and worse. Hot water on weekends was nearly nonexistent. I never considered that our hot water heater was slowly going to shit, but apparently, it was because from Saturday night to sometime Monday, not hot water. Not even warm water. Straight-up cold water–too cold to even rinse my hair out because it was fucking freezing and actually hurt my head.
Saturday night, Brandon and Kelly showered (separately because I’m a straight-up bitch when it comes to other people having sexytimes in my apartment) and reported that the water was starting to get kinda cold. Sunday morning, there was none, and this being pretty common, I thought nothing of it. When my hair-rinsing attempt failed, I heated water up on the stove. I’d already managed to shampoo, so since Paul was out buying donuts, I made Brandon pour it over my head. He thought I was joking, but I take my hot water very seriously. I heated water a few more times, even managing to use some to wash and rinse my body. I did the same for Paul.
But the water never got warmer Sunday. And it was still ice-cold Monday. By this point, I figured it wasn’t some dick doing weeks worth of laundry on the hottest setting possible on the washers, but since it wasn’t even 7 a.m., it’s not like I could do anything. So I heated water again for myself.
When I came home and it was fixed, I rejoiced. I continued rejoicing when I discovered it’s hotter than before and lasts longer, too.