The crap in the walls

My brother bunj had mentioned that he might stop by today (Good Lord willin' and all) and called to confirm. Just as the Old Man was handing the phone to me, it cut out. Since he'd been calling from his cell, we naturally assumed the problem was on his end until monshu pointed out that there was no dial tone. I went to the phone company website and followed their self-diagnostic, which required the two of us to head down to the junction box in the basement of the adjoining building hauling a screwdriver, a flashlight, and a telephone unit-cum-extension cord. Still no dial tone. I went back and completed the form, which promised assistance before Wednesday, and went to the back porch to cut up the old Christmas tree.

Imagine my amazement when the GWO came out a short while later and said, "There's somebody in the alley." I looked over my shoulder and saw the AT&T truck. My spouse led the technician into the common basement; some moments later, he left and got into the cherry picker while monshu went back into the house. I let him back into the cellar where he explained that the two junction boxes we had were the temporary kind, how ours was the only active line wired through the lower one, and how it was attached to the pole outside with a wire suitable for interior use only. Meanwhile, he unhooked our connexion and reattached it to the upper box, which had a more robust cable, thick and black.

Throw it on the pile of examples of what a half-assed job the developer did in rehabbing this place. It's more innocuous than most. Scooter's family is in rehab hell right now after a completely uninsulated pipe burst in the wall of their kitchen, flooding the lower level. Currently they've got two huge dehumidifiers running and the furnace cranked up to 85℉ to dry the place out. When the contractors opened the ceiling of their laundry room, they found the gap crammed with construction debris. The next condo meeting is going to be an interesting one--when and if it ever takes place.