Sean Gallup/ Getty Images News/ Getty Images
By Jon Weidman

Monday – 6:30 P.M.

I return from a meeting to my desk at work, cautiously optimistic I might be able to head out within the next hour. There is a party tonight, a band will be playing, friends will be attending, I’d like to go. But wait – an ominous, hours-old Gchat message from a now signed-off roommate: “dude, the kitchen is a warzone.”

Monday – 7:30 P.M.

Jesus Christ. Kitchen completely torn apart. Dishwasher and sink ripped out of long-tenured places. Massive hole in freshly exposed wall. No running water throughout the entirety of the house. Surly repairmen milling about the apartment speaking in Polish and not doing much else.

“What’s going on?”

“Pipe burst.”

“Are you guys fixing the water tonight?”

“Hey man, we fix tomorrow. I supposed to be home.”

“Listen, motherfucker [author’s note: OK maybe I called him ‘pal’], you’ve ripped a massive hole in my kitchen wall and no one seems to know why. This needs to be fixed.”

“It’s 8:00 P.M. already. We come tomorrow.”

“LISTEN, PAL. I BASICALLY HAVE NO HOME. THIS BUILDING IS MADE OF DOG SHIT, AND WHEN THERE’S NO WATER, THERE’S NO HEAT. AND OUTSIDE IS A FUCKING POLAR VORTEX RIGHT NOW. I KNOW YOU’RE GETTING PAID RIGHT NOW. STOP FUCKING AROUND AND FIX MY WATER. I HAVE TO GO TO THE SKATERS PARTY.”

Monday – 12:00 A.M.

I return home to sort-of working water. It only comes out extremely cold. Which is encouraging, but leaves me with no heat. First night of Sleeping Wherever I Can. First unreturned ‘WTF’ email to landlord.

Tuesday – 8:00 P.M.

Home from work. Absolutely no progress. Or so I thought! Turns out now the water only comes out scalding hot. Which means I have heat again, but in an apartment still completely fucked and pretty much without drinking water. First unreturned ‘WTF’ call to my landlord. Second night of Sleeping Wherever I Can.

Wednesday – 9:00 P.M.

Home from work. Progress! Or so I thought. All of the kitchen infrastructure is back to normal. Sink and dishwasher in proper positions of tenure. Still only scalding hot water, but hey this could be worse. Second unreturned ‘WTF’ email to my landlord, but this one a much milder version of ‘WTF.’ More ‘wtf.’ I sleep at home!

Thursday – 10:00 P.M.

Returning home from a hockey game with my Dad. Shit that was fun. Rangers so much cooler to watch than the Knicks right now. Always good spending quality time with the old man. Nicely buzzed on $50 worth of souvenir cup Stella Artois. Feelin’ alright.

Open door expecting progress, instead confronted with horror. First sight: tarp on the living room floor. Huh? Move towards the kitchen. Recoil! My refrigerator has been positioned directly in front of the kitchen door! What the fuck is hiding in there?! This can’t be good. Pry refrigerator to the side with impressive leverage. Scene of grotesque and inexplicable terror. Sink and dishwasher both re-removed from wall. Brand new hole covering old hole spot plus newly vacated fridgeless real estate. Seriously, literally, fucking six-foot long hole in my wall. At least two feet wide. Slowly back away a la Family Guy Kool-Aid Man sketch into bathroom to splash scalding hot water on face. What the fuck is going on in here? The shower has been ripped out of the wall as well! Why? To what end?  NOT TO MENTION MY ENTIRE FUCKING APARTMENT IS COVERED IN PLASTER. Why is there plaster all over the living room? These new holes are not in the living room. Literally everything is covered in plaster. A practical-joke quantity of plaster. The books I left on the living room table are covered in plaster. Inside the bathroom medicine cabinet, my toothbrush is covered in plaster. The water that comes out of the bathroom faucet tastes like fucking plaster. Glass-half-full mentality leads to a throat of rapidly hardening cement. Second unreturned ‘WTF’ call to my landlord. Third unreturned ‘WTF’ email to my landlord. Third night of Sleeping Wherever I Can.

Personal rage begins to turn murderous.

Part 2 next week – the story is still, believe it or not, in progress!

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