Ghetto fabulous

I live in a super ghetto apartment building.

The lock on the door into my apartment, which isn't much of a lock to begin with, is breaking a little bit more each day. The super, of course, will not fix it until either the roommate or I are unable to get in or out at a crucial moment in time. The tiles are falling off the inside walls of the shower, one by one. We've lost a doorknob, and the cabinet under the bathroom sink is dangerously close to losing a door. There are occasions when hot water is not hot. There is a critter problem. And that's just inside the apartment.

The speaker/buzzer system works based on the speaker/buzzer's mood. Electricians came in three weeks ago and tore walls apart in the hallways. Now it looks as though a giant termite had a big meal on every floor, and no efforts have been made to fix it thus far. The lock on the building's front door is frequently broken. The fire alarm goes off no less than 12 times a day for no apparent reason. And now we get to what this is really about -- the elevator.

When I first moved into my apartment five years ago, I knew I was lucky to have an elevator. No walking up five flights of stairs for me. Except that, most of the time, the elevator doesn't work, or something vile has happened inside the elevator that makes the stairs seem the far better choice. Over the past year or so, people have started getting stuck in the elevator with alarming frequency. As I'm never in it on these occasions, I don't mind ogling the hot firemen that come in for the rescue. I thought I was locked in the elevator once, but really it was just not opening on my particular floor. After a few moments of panic, I rode up to six and all was right in the world again.

Since last week, there have been signs all over the building saying the elevator would be out from Monday, October 18th through (2012) Thursday, October 21st. I of course wandered in dazed and hit the button both Monday and Tuesday, but nothing happened. Last night, The Roommate and I were hanging out and heard a fierce banging coming from up above. Then we see sirens. Then I walk down the hall with the garbage and see the firemen of my dirty dreams. No one has any idea how this man got into the elevator, or how long he had been there.

Why don't I move out, you ask? Because I adore my 'hood and my apartment is rent-stabilized. Plus I have a huge bedroom with three windows on the sunny side of the street. But someday, I'll have a kitchen too. I just know it.