Two months ago , I had rain in my apartment and promptly moved out. You must imagine how shocked I was to come home on Thursday, a rainy day, to an apartment flooded with water. Every room had about a five centimeter covering. I quickly realized that it was not rain this time, but rather a burst pipe under my sink. I was unable to shut it off from within the apartment , so immediately called my roommate hoping he would have some Israeli insight. He told me he would be home in 40 minutes and he would try to get a hold of a plumber. In the mean time, I called my landlord and left her a message. I then called some friends that lived near by. They were a huge help. One of them had a handyman that she had used in the past and he was able to tell us where in our apartment building we would find the main water shutoff. He also found us a plumber, as my roommate had been unsuccessful in that matter. Once the water finally stopped, the squeegeeing began. We knocked on a couple of doors to properly equip ourselves, as my apartment only had one squeegee, and then we started the endless task of moving loads and loads of water out of the apartment and onto the balcony. From the balcony, the water was able to drain from two drainage holes down seven stories. It was quite a site to see. As the squeegeeing continued, so did my calls to the landlord, but to no avail. By the time my roommate got home, we had been squeegeeing for a good twenty minutes and had made a bit of progress, but he sprang into action as soon as he set foot inside. It was so Israeli when he was able to do what when had done in 20 minutes together in ten minutes alone. The cleanup was finished in no time, and we turned on all of our heaters to get rid of the last of the dampness. As soon as we finished, a downstairs neighbor came up trying to find the source of the water. I guess our flood had spilled over to his apartment too. His place was fine, though, and ours was finally dry. We still couldn't get a hold of the landlord, but the plumber that the handyman called finally showed up. He worked for a bit, had some juice with us and then continued. I'm not quite sure what he did, but he still hasn't finished. We have no pipework or kitchen faucet as of now, and we still haven't paid him. Apparently he was supposed to finish yesterday (Friday), but as far as I know, he never called. Luckily, we have two bathrooms, so after some cleaning (I mean the whole apartment had clean floors; I might as well clean the bathrooms), it has become our makeshift kitchen. No damage was done in the flood, but it is frustrating that we still have not been able to get a hold of the landlord. We have, however, been in touch with her legal representative and have been reassured that we will not be responsible for the cost of the repairs. A couple weeks ago, we notified our landlord that the kitchen sink was leaking, and because she never fixed it, we are not financially responsible. In hindsight, it was a rather entertaining afternoon activity.
On a lighter and brighter note, my espresso maker was finally delivered, and I have been loving life as a coffee drinker. I am so over instant. I happened to be sitting in a coffee shop near my apartment when it was delivered. It was right after the bombing in Jerusalem, and I needed internet access (the internet in my apartment is quite shoddy), so I went down to the cafe knowing that my espresso maker was supposed to be delivered between four and six and assuming it would come later rather than sooner, based on the traffic rerouting and such. At about 3:55 I looked up from my computer and saw the mail truck parked on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. The mailman was trying to buzz up to me. I asked in Hebrew if it was for apartment 17, and he asked me how I could prove I lived there. I left my apartment in such a dash that I didn't have I.D. on me. I unlocked the downstairs door, though to go up and get it. It was so Israeli when he stopped me and told me it was fine. Apparently because I can get into my apartment building, my identity is confirmed. That actually worked out in my favor because when they translated my order from English to Hebrew, my name was changed from Sondra to Sarah. I'm not sure what would have happened if I had showed him my I.D. Regardless, it was a non-issue; I returned to the coffee shop with my huge coffee maker. Slightly ironic, but very exciting.
Thanks for the mention!
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