New on the home front, tonight I came home to find two lightbulbs out in the upstairs lamp. I managed to find one new bulb, and proceeded to replace one of the dead ones.
That was my first mistake.
The lightbulb immediately blew, and when I tried to take it back out, the majority of the glass came off in my hand. My friends who were present advised me to cut the circuit before using pliers to remove the remaining half-bulb. Unfortunately, the circuit box is in another flat. So I had to call the landlord.
The landlord, drunk and disbelieving, insisted on coming upstairs and seeing for himself. He had me turn the light on and off. He then said, "There's no way there's any electricity running through that." Quality logic, that. And then, refusing any advice, including my proffered oven mitt, he stuck his bare hand up to the remaining half-bulb.
As we all sat there in shock, the landlord fidgeted with the glass until a small crunch was heard and the landlord said calmly, "Oh. Blood." Several small pieces of glass fell to the floor.
aAAAaah.
He then (continuing to fidget) proclaimed, "Oh, there's your problem; it's in too tight." No. No it's not.
After I disposed of what glass he had gotten out, I then asked him again to go break the circuit so I could use pliers like I was planning to in the first place. Ignoring me, he immediately stuck his hand back in the bulb case. I offered the mitt again, only to be told, "There's no electricity there." I said, "No, for the glass..." having given up on him knowing how electricity works. His reply, "Oh, I don't mind the blood." We do, landlord, we do.
After several moments of all of us just waiting for him to slash open something important or electrocute himself, he did actually manage to get the bulb out. Thanking him, I tried to get him out of the house at that point, but he insisted on finding two new bulbs for us. I told him to call me if he found bulbs, but please not to worry about it and I'd take care of it in the morning.
Ten minutes later, he called back, saying he found bulbs. He then had the gall to explain to me how to safely insert new bulbs.
Augh.
Just...augh.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Pudding!
I really do somehow seem to attract both helpful coincidence and just plain bizarre. Today, the Walrus and I took a day trip to a place that requires three different trains each way. Normally, this kind of thing could take up to an hour, including waiting for trains at each transfer. Both ways today took approximately half that each. We'd enter a station, get to a platform, and a train would simply appear.
But the stranger thing is that on the last train, while we sat, tired and quiet from all the wandering around, listening to some college students discover for the first time that it is entertaining to try and figure out which Hogwarts school your friends would be, a young woman with bright purple hair, eyes red-rimmed not with fatigue or withdrawal but with copious amounts of red eyeshadow, and a box-top full of pudding cups came aboard, sat down across from us, and promptly offered me a pudding.
Of course I took a pudding! Who doesn't want pudding?
But the stranger thing is that on the last train, while we sat, tired and quiet from all the wandering around, listening to some college students discover for the first time that it is entertaining to try and figure out which Hogwarts school your friends would be, a young woman with bright purple hair, eyes red-rimmed not with fatigue or withdrawal but with copious amounts of red eyeshadow, and a box-top full of pudding cups came aboard, sat down across from us, and promptly offered me a pudding.
Of course I took a pudding! Who doesn't want pudding?
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Shovel
Another time that Walrus and I were off in another state, Owl came home to find a shovel leaning up against the fridge.
Yep. Just a shovel. And a dirty shovel, too; not even one she recognized.
Naturally, she texted me to ask about it, even though she'd been there more recently than I.
This time, as it happens, I had a guess as to what had happened, so my response was to ask whether or not we had a new screen door on the balcony. She checked; there was.
A few weeks previous, our landlord had asked us to keep the balcony door shut in case of squirrels. Normally, I'd simply agree; who wants wildlife in your kitchen? But since the balcony had no screen door, this made getting a breeze in the disgusting summer weather we were having rather difficult. He assured me he would get a new screen door in. Each week or so thereafter, I'd given him a call asking him about the door. Finally, I left a message saying that I wouldn't be able to get in touch because I would be out of cell range, and that he should call Owl about the door. Apparently he took the first part of this to heart, but ignored the second.
Which doesn't exactly explain why there was a dirty shovel in the kitchen. Clearly it was left by elves.
Flash back here to the bloody pillow story (see below). As it happens, despite the fact that the landlord claimed he had not come in our house, upon returning home, Walrus and I learned that, the very same day we left, the landlord had slipped in the snow and injured his head such that his ear was bleeding and he seemed disoriented. The landlord swore that he had gone straight to his floor, gone to bed for a bit, gone to the bathroom to wash up, and then been fine. Checking this against the evidence- door had been open when my friend came to take care of the cat the first time, closest bedroom to the door had been lain in with a head injury, bathroom light was on- it seems likely that, whether or not he remembers it, the landlord was in fact our mysterious elf.
So, no surprise, the landlord, and/or his buddy, had come in the apartment without telling anyone, installed the new door, picked up a shovel from somewhere to clear some of the junk from the balcony to make doing so easier, and left the shovel wherever was convenient. Oh, and left an empty six-pack Budweiser container near the balcony, too.
Naturally, he swears that his buddy did the installation with Owl present, handed her the shovel he found on the balcony, and never would ever drink on the job. Riiiiight.
Yep. Just a shovel. And a dirty shovel, too; not even one she recognized.
Naturally, she texted me to ask about it, even though she'd been there more recently than I.
This time, as it happens, I had a guess as to what had happened, so my response was to ask whether or not we had a new screen door on the balcony. She checked; there was.
A few weeks previous, our landlord had asked us to keep the balcony door shut in case of squirrels. Normally, I'd simply agree; who wants wildlife in your kitchen? But since the balcony had no screen door, this made getting a breeze in the disgusting summer weather we were having rather difficult. He assured me he would get a new screen door in. Each week or so thereafter, I'd given him a call asking him about the door. Finally, I left a message saying that I wouldn't be able to get in touch because I would be out of cell range, and that he should call Owl about the door. Apparently he took the first part of this to heart, but ignored the second.
Which doesn't exactly explain why there was a dirty shovel in the kitchen. Clearly it was left by elves.
Flash back here to the bloody pillow story (see below). As it happens, despite the fact that the landlord claimed he had not come in our house, upon returning home, Walrus and I learned that, the very same day we left, the landlord had slipped in the snow and injured his head such that his ear was bleeding and he seemed disoriented. The landlord swore that he had gone straight to his floor, gone to bed for a bit, gone to the bathroom to wash up, and then been fine. Checking this against the evidence- door had been open when my friend came to take care of the cat the first time, closest bedroom to the door had been lain in with a head injury, bathroom light was on- it seems likely that, whether or not he remembers it, the landlord was in fact our mysterious elf.
So, no surprise, the landlord, and/or his buddy, had come in the apartment without telling anyone, installed the new door, picked up a shovel from somewhere to clear some of the junk from the balcony to make doing so easier, and left the shovel wherever was convenient. Oh, and left an empty six-pack Budweiser container near the balcony, too.
Naturally, he swears that his buddy did the installation with Owl present, handed her the shovel he found on the balcony, and never would ever drink on the job. Riiiiight.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Pizza Elves
So, between then and now, I've gotten an entire graduate degree. I find myself once again with a moderate amount of brain to spare. Congratulations, dedicated readers! You have discovered posts no one thought would happen!
There has also been a swapping of housemates. Owl left for a time, and a classmate of mine, to be known as Jill, took the room. Some things to know about Jill: she is very self-sufficient, she is very self-contained, and she is very, well, normal. It was less like having a housemate and more like having a very quiet neighbor. Well, so says one who is used to living with good friends.
Another thing about Jill is that she has a gluten sensitivity. Not Celiac, apparently, so I don't really understand the details. But it was serious enough that she used and washed her own plates and utensils.
Which made it very confusing when, on returning from going out to dinner with Walrus, we discovered a box half-filled with pizza, very normal, gluten-filled pizza, sitting on our kitchen counter. At first, I assumed this was Walrus', and he assumed it was mine, even though neither of us likes the particular kind of pizza in the box, because it certainly couldn't be Jill's.
Upon discovering that it wasn't either of ours, we declared it to be courtesy of the pizza elves, perhaps as part payment for their cousins the bloody elves.
Later, of course, it was determined that Jill "sometimes just can't resist". I guess the sensitivity isn't so serious after all.
There has also been a swapping of housemates. Owl left for a time, and a classmate of mine, to be known as Jill, took the room. Some things to know about Jill: she is very self-sufficient, she is very self-contained, and she is very, well, normal. It was less like having a housemate and more like having a very quiet neighbor. Well, so says one who is used to living with good friends.
Another thing about Jill is that she has a gluten sensitivity. Not Celiac, apparently, so I don't really understand the details. But it was serious enough that she used and washed her own plates and utensils.
Which made it very confusing when, on returning from going out to dinner with Walrus, we discovered a box half-filled with pizza, very normal, gluten-filled pizza, sitting on our kitchen counter. At first, I assumed this was Walrus', and he assumed it was mine, even though neither of us likes the particular kind of pizza in the box, because it certainly couldn't be Jill's.
Upon discovering that it wasn't either of ours, we declared it to be courtesy of the pizza elves, perhaps as part payment for their cousins the bloody elves.
Later, of course, it was determined that Jill "sometimes just can't resist". I guess the sensitivity isn't so serious after all.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Bloody Pillow
As it happened, all three of us who live together have been out of town for the weekend. My housemate Owl happened to get back earlier than the rest of us, and this is what she found:
Her door, at the landing of the first flight of stairs, was open; I can tell you from personal memory that it was closed when we left. The light to the bathroom next to her door was on; it had been off. In her room, she noticed her fake sword was missing. The books and stuffed animals on her bed had been moved neatly to the side, and there was dirt and drops of blood on her sheets and a pool of it staining her pillow.
There are, to my knowledge, six people with keys to our apartment. Walrus and I are here, in a state far away. Owl was obviously not there for the duration. Our friend Arisbe has one kind of by accident, but she's also in a different state. The two people both in the same city and having a key are the landlord and my friend who is taking care of my cat.
First order of business, we contacted those two. The landlord claims not to have been in our apartment since last I was there with him. My friend taking care of the cat said that Owl's door had been open every time he'd been there, though he hadn't gone far enough in to notice the blood and dirt. The cat was fine and nothing obvious had been messed up- no outer doors or windows open, no footprints in the house, nothing missing. The window between when we left and the first time he was there is approximately 18 hours.
Second order of business was to contact the police. They found nothing I hadn't already gathered; the blood pattern sounds like a nosebleed, and there was no sign of forced entry or robbery. Either all the cop shows are paying off, or these police folk aren't any better at their job in person than I am FROM MILES AWAY. According to Owl, the officer who came to look around thinks that Walrus and I somehow had a drunken revel (we don't drink) and forgot to clean up only Owl's room of all things. Did I mention that we are in a different state?
Walrus theorized that it was elves. When we told this to Owl, she said that this is what the police seemed to think, too.
Drat those elves.
Her door, at the landing of the first flight of stairs, was open; I can tell you from personal memory that it was closed when we left. The light to the bathroom next to her door was on; it had been off. In her room, she noticed her fake sword was missing. The books and stuffed animals on her bed had been moved neatly to the side, and there was dirt and drops of blood on her sheets and a pool of it staining her pillow.
There are, to my knowledge, six people with keys to our apartment. Walrus and I are here, in a state far away. Owl was obviously not there for the duration. Our friend Arisbe has one kind of by accident, but she's also in a different state. The two people both in the same city and having a key are the landlord and my friend who is taking care of my cat.
First order of business, we contacted those two. The landlord claims not to have been in our apartment since last I was there with him. My friend taking care of the cat said that Owl's door had been open every time he'd been there, though he hadn't gone far enough in to notice the blood and dirt. The cat was fine and nothing obvious had been messed up- no outer doors or windows open, no footprints in the house, nothing missing. The window between when we left and the first time he was there is approximately 18 hours.
Second order of business was to contact the police. They found nothing I hadn't already gathered; the blood pattern sounds like a nosebleed, and there was no sign of forced entry or robbery. Either all the cop shows are paying off, or these police folk aren't any better at their job in person than I am FROM MILES AWAY. According to Owl, the officer who came to look around thinks that Walrus and I somehow had a drunken revel (we don't drink) and forgot to clean up only Owl's room of all things. Did I mention that we are in a different state?
Walrus theorized that it was elves. When we told this to Owl, she said that this is what the police seemed to think, too.
Drat those elves.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Flash Circus
Dear gods, has it really been over a month since I wrote here? I suppose it has. My apologies.
Well, tonight something truly spectacular- in every sense of the word- happened. Every Monday, it is my custom to go out and practice spinning poi. No, not taro root goop found in Hawai'ian cuisine, the fire-dancing implements that are essentially wicks on chains. I've only gotten to actually burn a few times, but I do go practice whenever possible.
Normally, the place where people I know gather to spin is at University Campus X. This is a good distance from my home, but easily accessible by train, so not too inconvenient. Tonight, on my way to University Campus X, I happened by the main square near my home, and saw, to my surprise, people spinning.
What's this, I thought, and looked closer. I saw the shining bald head of someone I knew. I needed to investigate further!
When I arrived, I saw what seemed to be the entire spin jam crammed into the square. One of my friends found me and told me this story:
Originally, there was to be a professional circus performing in the square tonight, but for some reason, they didn't show up. One of the spin jam folks happened to be part of the circus/organizing for the circus/in some way connected, and called one of the more prominent spin jam vets. The spin jam was promptly packed up from University Campus X and brought straight away to my home square. Instant circus!
Well, it's extremely convenient for me! And great fun, too!
Well, tonight something truly spectacular- in every sense of the word- happened. Every Monday, it is my custom to go out and practice spinning poi. No, not taro root goop found in Hawai'ian cuisine, the fire-dancing implements that are essentially wicks on chains. I've only gotten to actually burn a few times, but I do go practice whenever possible.
Normally, the place where people I know gather to spin is at University Campus X. This is a good distance from my home, but easily accessible by train, so not too inconvenient. Tonight, on my way to University Campus X, I happened by the main square near my home, and saw, to my surprise, people spinning.
What's this, I thought, and looked closer. I saw the shining bald head of someone I knew. I needed to investigate further!
When I arrived, I saw what seemed to be the entire spin jam crammed into the square. One of my friends found me and told me this story:
Originally, there was to be a professional circus performing in the square tonight, but for some reason, they didn't show up. One of the spin jam folks happened to be part of the circus/organizing for the circus/in some way connected, and called one of the more prominent spin jam vets. The spin jam was promptly packed up from University Campus X and brought straight away to my home square. Instant circus!
Well, it's extremely convenient for me! And great fun, too!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Street Fighters
Recently I was walking to a subway station in a very public, well lit, heavily populated area, when I spotted two men apparently fighting each other, very poorly. They would have each other at arm's length, almost in a stranglehold, and then sort of halfheartedly punch at each other, almost like a catfight. People were passing them by, barely giving them a glance.
I stopped, not wanting to succumb to bystander apathy, and seriously pondered calling the police. I mean, wtf, mates? But I couldn't decide just from what little I observed whether they were actually fighting, just poorly, or play-fighting, and I have so been there. I wouldn't want to get the cops called on me every time I mock-spar with a friend.
So I watched for a moment, trying to decide. They stopped for a second, and spoke to each other in calm tones in a language I didn't recognize, probably something subcontinental. They let each other catch his breath, then started again. I decided that if it WERE an actual fight, either no one would be injured and it would be fine, or it would escalate and someone else would have to handle it, because I was going home.
A little perturbed, I made my way past the fight and towards the subway when I heard a woman shriek on the other side of the street. I turned, my adrenaline pumping, only to realize that she was drunk off her behind and only hiding from her friend, who had poked her.
What on earth is with these people?
I stopped, not wanting to succumb to bystander apathy, and seriously pondered calling the police. I mean, wtf, mates? But I couldn't decide just from what little I observed whether they were actually fighting, just poorly, or play-fighting, and I have so been there. I wouldn't want to get the cops called on me every time I mock-spar with a friend.
So I watched for a moment, trying to decide. They stopped for a second, and spoke to each other in calm tones in a language I didn't recognize, probably something subcontinental. They let each other catch his breath, then started again. I decided that if it WERE an actual fight, either no one would be injured and it would be fine, or it would escalate and someone else would have to handle it, because I was going home.
A little perturbed, I made my way past the fight and towards the subway when I heard a woman shriek on the other side of the street. I turned, my adrenaline pumping, only to realize that she was drunk off her behind and only hiding from her friend, who had poked her.
What on earth is with these people?
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