Gas Leak 2: Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Come Home
Why is it always around midnight, that's what I want to know. Why can't gas start pouring into my apartment at a decent hour of the day?
Better yet, gas could decide not to pour into my apartment at all. (Just kidding. Gas can't make rational decisions; gas is all id.)
I'm sitting here at midnight--and the only reason I'm not passed-out asleep--and hey, as it turns out, maybe it wouldn't have been an exaggeration--is that I'm up late doing laundry because it took a while for the machines to free up, and a familiar smell starts to curl into my nostrils. My boyfriend, the young and handsome one, was downstairs futzing with the laundry.
Was I crazy, I wondered? Paranoid? Had I gotten gas lodged in my nose somehow last week?
When the young and handsome one came back in, I asked him if he smelled gas.
"I smell something," he said. "Could be gas."
I sighed. "Really? Should I call Con Ed?"
He sniffed again. "It's getting stronger."
I sighed again. I called Con Ed.
It was easier this time. The came with their clicky device. They ran their clicky magic wand around the vent and my stove.
Which turned out to be leaking gas.
"The good thing," I said "is that we don't have to deal with nutty lady next door this time." I thought about it as they pulled out the stove, turned off my gas, and filled out the ticket to give to my landlord. "And that I'm not crazy," I added.
So now I need a new stove.
My lease renewal arrived a couple days ago, and they want to raise my rent by $200. I think, on the whole, that I'll be moving.
Better yet, gas could decide not to pour into my apartment at all. (Just kidding. Gas can't make rational decisions; gas is all id.)
I'm sitting here at midnight--and the only reason I'm not passed-out asleep--and hey, as it turns out, maybe it wouldn't have been an exaggeration--is that I'm up late doing laundry because it took a while for the machines to free up, and a familiar smell starts to curl into my nostrils. My boyfriend, the young and handsome one, was downstairs futzing with the laundry.
Was I crazy, I wondered? Paranoid? Had I gotten gas lodged in my nose somehow last week?
When the young and handsome one came back in, I asked him if he smelled gas.
"I smell something," he said. "Could be gas."
I sighed. "Really? Should I call Con Ed?"
He sniffed again. "It's getting stronger."
I sighed again. I called Con Ed.
It was easier this time. The came with their clicky device. They ran their clicky magic wand around the vent and my stove.
Which turned out to be leaking gas.
"The good thing," I said "is that we don't have to deal with nutty lady next door this time." I thought about it as they pulled out the stove, turned off my gas, and filled out the ticket to give to my landlord. "And that I'm not crazy," I added.
So now I need a new stove.
My lease renewal arrived a couple days ago, and they want to raise my rent by $200. I think, on the whole, that I'll be moving.