I told my super several times to no avail in the past two weeks that my kitchen ceiling was leaking, leaking to the degree that water was pooling between the wall and the paint, resulting in sags like those under Fred Thompson’s eyes.
Jose finally stopped by last night, checked the ceiling, convinced himself I hadn’t imagined the leak, then left. A few minutes later, I heard scuffling and banging from the apartment room directly above my kitchen. Then he stopped back and told me the leak had originated from a pipe upstairs and that he’d fixed it. He’s giving the watery mess three days to dry, after which he says he’ll stop by to repair the water damage and repaint the wall. In the meantime, I look forward to inhaling countless potentially toxic mold spores.
