For the past week I’ve been bitching about my raggedy ass ceiling. Monday morning I woke up and went to get a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch because I’m a grown ass man and can eat whatever the fuck I want. I look at the ceiling and it was closer to me than it was the previous night. “That’s not good…” I said aloud and called the owner’s sister who kinda sorta has something to do with getting shit fixed. It had a crack in it for years and I never got it repaired because whenever they “fix” something in my place they make something else worse.
I was talking to a friend when I heard a crack and slam which is also what I call it when I have sex. I called my building people again and told them that shit was getting real and I didn’t want to come home from work with an extra apartment in my kitchen. She huffed and puffed like I was calling about a leaking faucet. She said someone would come to check it out. The next day the building manager looked at it, made some sounds, and said someone would be coming Wednesday. What the fuck?
