The Shower Saga
So yesterday morning I woke up as I tend to do, every now and then: weeping and gnashing my teeth about the cruelty and hideousness of a world that forces me to get out of my bed. The injustice! The horror!
After a lot of compromising and several false starts, I managed to get into the shower without running back into my bedroom. When I got downstairs, though - still pondering the basic twistedness of a society that considers this sort of thing acceptable - I heard an odd sort of noise. A persistent sort of... dripping noise. Coming from the livingroom. I went to investigate and oh hell no.
The outline of my shower is very clearly visible from the ceiling in my livingroom, and along these lines water was dripping. Quite a lot of it. The floor underneath was soaked. I quietly freaked, put a towel down on the floor and even for a little while held another one up to the ceiling. I considered phoning Joan to ask what I should do. But time was ticking, and I am a working girl now!
See, the thing is... I've been living myself for two years now, but my house is in pretty good shape, so apart from the garden fence being blown down every few months I've not had to do much. And I don't know very much. Once dripping stopped, I figured all was well and went my merry way to work.
Where I promptly forgot all about it. I'm easily distracted.
Anyway, at about 4 I finally approached Joan about it.
Me: There is water coming out of my ceiling. I feel this is not normal.
Joan: akdanfgkdlagndla WHY DID YOU COME TO WORK YOUR CEILING WILL CAVE IN AND YOU WILL DIE
Me: o.o
Since she's my boss, she said it would be okay to take the rest of the day off to get it sorted, and I rushed home with the assistance of my grandad.
Grandad: I say we poke a hole in the ceiling. Then the water will just dribble out.
Me: Um... okay.
Grandad: And then you won't have to call a plumber.
Me: ...
Grandad: You could just put a bucket underneath the ceiling-hole.
Me: *flails* But Joan says my house will fall in and I'll DIE!
Grandad: Yes, but if you call a plumber they might charge you money.
Me: ...
After much flailing and yelps of "But I'd rather pay £100 than have my bathroom fall through into my livingroom!!" my grandad told me not to call a plumber myself, he'd call a friend of a friend who's son was a plumber. PlumberMan eventually came around, poked about in my shower and let me know that the sealant had come loose and was letting all the water leak down, and that all he'd need to do was cut it out and re-do it. Yay!
Today was the day of The Great Recaulking, and predictably I slept until 2pm. (Today I angsted about the cruelty and injustice of a world where sleeping makes my back ache. I CAN'T WIN.) After some worrying about having slept through PlumberMan coming to the door, it turns out he's not here because his VAN GOT BROKEN INTO and the WINDOWS PANNED IN.
...
I am not looking forward to a week of washing myself from the sink. The Sims makes it look MUCH EASIER than it actually is.
Since I'm working tomorrow and don't want to take another day off, the upshot of this is that my grandad is house-sitting tomorrow.
THIS CANNOT BODE WELL.
After a lot of compromising and several false starts, I managed to get into the shower without running back into my bedroom. When I got downstairs, though - still pondering the basic twistedness of a society that considers this sort of thing acceptable - I heard an odd sort of noise. A persistent sort of... dripping noise. Coming from the livingroom. I went to investigate and oh hell no.
The outline of my shower is very clearly visible from the ceiling in my livingroom, and along these lines water was dripping. Quite a lot of it. The floor underneath was soaked. I quietly freaked, put a towel down on the floor and even for a little while held another one up to the ceiling. I considered phoning Joan to ask what I should do. But time was ticking, and I am a working girl now!
See, the thing is... I've been living myself for two years now, but my house is in pretty good shape, so apart from the garden fence being blown down every few months I've not had to do much. And I don't know very much. Once dripping stopped, I figured all was well and went my merry way to work.
Where I promptly forgot all about it. I'm easily distracted.
Anyway, at about 4 I finally approached Joan about it.
Me: There is water coming out of my ceiling. I feel this is not normal.
Joan: akdanfgkdlagndla WHY DID YOU COME TO WORK YOUR CEILING WILL CAVE IN AND YOU WILL DIE
Me: o.o
Since she's my boss, she said it would be okay to take the rest of the day off to get it sorted, and I rushed home with the assistance of my grandad.
Grandad: I say we poke a hole in the ceiling. Then the water will just dribble out.
Me: Um... okay.
Grandad: And then you won't have to call a plumber.
Me: ...
Grandad: You could just put a bucket underneath the ceiling-hole.
Me: *flails* But Joan says my house will fall in and I'll DIE!
Grandad: Yes, but if you call a plumber they might charge you money.
Me: ...
After much flailing and yelps of "But I'd rather pay £100 than have my bathroom fall through into my livingroom!!" my grandad told me not to call a plumber myself, he'd call a friend of a friend who's son was a plumber. PlumberMan eventually came around, poked about in my shower and let me know that the sealant had come loose and was letting all the water leak down, and that all he'd need to do was cut it out and re-do it. Yay!
Today was the day of The Great Recaulking, and predictably I slept until 2pm. (Today I angsted about the cruelty and injustice of a world where sleeping makes my back ache. I CAN'T WIN.) After some worrying about having slept through PlumberMan coming to the door, it turns out he's not here because his VAN GOT BROKEN INTO and the WINDOWS PANNED IN.
...
I am not looking forward to a week of washing myself from the sink. The Sims makes it look MUCH EASIER than it actually is.
Since I'm working tomorrow and don't want to take another day off, the upshot of this is that my grandad is house-sitting tomorrow.
THIS CANNOT BODE WELL.