May. 14th, 2003 08:50 am
Good neighbour award
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muckefuckI meant to write up this tale yesterday (in fact, I even told someone I neglected to call to look here for the reason) but never got around to it. It's longish and I've been logorrheic of late, so I'm hiding it with the help of the magical
Monday, I got in late, stayed late a work, and took a walk through the park on the way home. It was after eight before I got home and got started on dinner. I have one of those in-the-fridge freezers that is the exact opposite of "frost-free". Tonight it was probably the worst I'd ever seen it. I had to hack away at ice to get it open and then I had to hack away at more ice to get it closed. I do this on a regular basis (I have a dedicated knife for it so I don't fuck up any of the quality ones my dad gave me) and always end up sweaty, a little numb, and with a big melty puddle on the floor. On the other hand, if I didn't have to clean that up, I'd never mop.
Whatever. An hour later, I've finally got the freezer to shut--but the fridge itself won't close no matter what I do. I'm worried I may have loosened the gasket (which is literally held in with tape) in all my hacking. There's nothing I can do to keep it shut besides stick a jug of laundry detergent in front, which merely reduces the gap to a few inches. I figure this will let some of the ice melt overnight, which is hardly a bad thing. But it's clearly no long-term solution, so I call the building engineer for help. He says he'll be over in 20 minutes.
Half-an-hour later, he shows up, has a look at the fridge, and says it's probably the ice keeping the door open, though I can't see how. "That's a lotta ice," he observes. He asks me when I last defrosted it and I hear myself getting defensive about my maintenance habits. (It's only later when I have a quiet moment that I recognise the absurdity of getting stuck with a piece of shit appliance and then being help responsible for not expending extra effort to maintain it properly.)
Then I make my move: Ever since my immediate neighbours left, I've been unable to help noticing that they have a SHINY FUNCTIONAL FRIDGE in their empty kitchen. "Why don't we just move in the refrigerator from next door?" I ask. He gives me some line about having to check with the rental agency--as if those absentee landlords would notice what the hell was going on in their rental properties. Then he tells me there's a fridge in the basement that might work. "But does it have a separate freezer?" I ask. "If it doesn't, I'll just have the same problem again in a month."
He tells me he'll check and heads off into the bowels. I stand on the back porch waiting for him, wondering if I should've gone with him. Even if it's the right model, it could be all nasty inside. How do I know what the basement is like? And if it works, why the hell is it stowed away in the first place? It's ten o'clock now and I would normally be in bed even if I weren't tired as hell, which I am. After several minutes (what, is there a labyrinth below my building?), I get bored and decide I might have time to make a quick call. Moments later, I hear a loud noise downstairs. Sure enough, it's the super--and he's got a fridge.
I throw my boots on and go down to help him pull the dolly up three half-flights and across three landings. It's suprisingly light work--but noisy enough to draw at least one sleeping neighbour to his apartment door. I hiss an apology. Then I have to fly into action, covering every free spot in my tiny, dishelved kitchen with things which were either on (e.g. all my spices, my knife block, etc.) or in my fridge. We do the swap (in such a way as to do maximum scraping on the back porch, of course) and he tells me to let the freon settle before I plug it in. It's a little musty, but there's no sign of mildew.
I ask if he needs help getting the old down and he tells me no so I start stocking. A few moments and several thumps later, I hear him call my name. He's got the fridge on its back on the first half-flight, the door slightly ajar, and asks "Do you have any tape?" "Only scotch tape," I tell him. I try to think what else might help and suggest "I've got clothesline." "It's okay," he says, though he complains of how top-heavy the old monster is. "That's a lotta ice," he repeats, once again implicating my sloppy habits. "Call me if you need help," I reply and go back to what I was doing.
It's now ten-thirty. For at least ten minutes more, the building shakes with the sounds of a diminutive Rumanian man single-handedly sliding an awkward refrigerator down three flights of stairs WITHOUT A DOLLY and then into the basement.
I am the most loved person in the building right now.
I plug in the fridge and it starts whining away. It's only been fifteen minutes; I wonder if I was too impatient. What're the dangers of unsettled freon anyway? He never said, he just said "wait 20 minutes, half-an-hour" as if it were self-explanatory. Will I be gassed in my sleep? Who cares! I collapse in my bed.
The fridge works great. Of course, now I'm left to ponder the fact that my landlords let me struggle for years with an obsolete monstrosity, hacking ice and scooping out pounds of frost, while a lighter, cleaner, more efficient GE appliance was GATHERING DUST IN THE FRIGGIN' BASEMENT. I can't wait to see my next electric bill.
Monday, I got in late, stayed late a work, and took a walk through the park on the way home. It was after eight before I got home and got started on dinner. I have one of those in-the-fridge freezers that is the exact opposite of "frost-free". Tonight it was probably the worst I'd ever seen it. I had to hack away at ice to get it open and then I had to hack away at more ice to get it closed. I do this on a regular basis (I have a dedicated knife for it so I don't fuck up any of the quality ones my dad gave me) and always end up sweaty, a little numb, and with a big melty puddle on the floor. On the other hand, if I didn't have to clean that up, I'd never mop.
Whatever. An hour later, I've finally got the freezer to shut--but the fridge itself won't close no matter what I do. I'm worried I may have loosened the gasket (which is literally held in with tape) in all my hacking. There's nothing I can do to keep it shut besides stick a jug of laundry detergent in front, which merely reduces the gap to a few inches. I figure this will let some of the ice melt overnight, which is hardly a bad thing. But it's clearly no long-term solution, so I call the building engineer for help. He says he'll be over in 20 minutes.
Half-an-hour later, he shows up, has a look at the fridge, and says it's probably the ice keeping the door open, though I can't see how. "That's a lotta ice," he observes. He asks me when I last defrosted it and I hear myself getting defensive about my maintenance habits. (It's only later when I have a quiet moment that I recognise the absurdity of getting stuck with a piece of shit appliance and then being help responsible for not expending extra effort to maintain it properly.)
Then I make my move: Ever since my immediate neighbours left, I've been unable to help noticing that they have a SHINY FUNCTIONAL FRIDGE in their empty kitchen. "Why don't we just move in the refrigerator from next door?" I ask. He gives me some line about having to check with the rental agency--as if those absentee landlords would notice what the hell was going on in their rental properties. Then he tells me there's a fridge in the basement that might work. "But does it have a separate freezer?" I ask. "If it doesn't, I'll just have the same problem again in a month."
He tells me he'll check and heads off into the bowels. I stand on the back porch waiting for him, wondering if I should've gone with him. Even if it's the right model, it could be all nasty inside. How do I know what the basement is like? And if it works, why the hell is it stowed away in the first place? It's ten o'clock now and I would normally be in bed even if I weren't tired as hell, which I am. After several minutes (what, is there a labyrinth below my building?), I get bored and decide I might have time to make a quick call. Moments later, I hear a loud noise downstairs. Sure enough, it's the super--and he's got a fridge.
I throw my boots on and go down to help him pull the dolly up three half-flights and across three landings. It's suprisingly light work--but noisy enough to draw at least one sleeping neighbour to his apartment door. I hiss an apology. Then I have to fly into action, covering every free spot in my tiny, dishelved kitchen with things which were either on (e.g. all my spices, my knife block, etc.) or in my fridge. We do the swap (in such a way as to do maximum scraping on the back porch, of course) and he tells me to let the freon settle before I plug it in. It's a little musty, but there's no sign of mildew.
I ask if he needs help getting the old down and he tells me no so I start stocking. A few moments and several thumps later, I hear him call my name. He's got the fridge on its back on the first half-flight, the door slightly ajar, and asks "Do you have any tape?" "Only scotch tape," I tell him. I try to think what else might help and suggest "I've got clothesline." "It's okay," he says, though he complains of how top-heavy the old monster is. "That's a lotta ice," he repeats, once again implicating my sloppy habits. "Call me if you need help," I reply and go back to what I was doing.
It's now ten-thirty. For at least ten minutes more, the building shakes with the sounds of a diminutive Rumanian man single-handedly sliding an awkward refrigerator down three flights of stairs WITHOUT A DOLLY and then into the basement.
I am the most loved person in the building right now.
I plug in the fridge and it starts whining away. It's only been fifteen minutes; I wonder if I was too impatient. What're the dangers of unsettled freon anyway? He never said, he just said "wait 20 minutes, half-an-hour" as if it were self-explanatory. Will I be gassed in my sleep? Who cares! I collapse in my bed.
The fridge works great. Of course, now I'm left to ponder the fact that my landlords let me struggle for years with an obsolete monstrosity, hacking ice and scooping out pounds of frost, while a lighter, cleaner, more efficient GE appliance was GATHERING DUST IN THE FRIGGIN' BASEMENT. I can't wait to see my next electric bill.
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