Last week my Ayi, who probably thinks that I have mental problems or am a hopeless incompetent, both of which are likely to be the case,left me a note. “Your ceiling fell in. If you’d like, I can talk with the building management when I come next week.”
Implied message: or you can call them yourself, dope.
In my defense, the ceiling was in my guest bathroom, which I never go into. Still, the damage was pretty obvious. It’s hard to take a bath when the ceiling is in the bathtub.
Communicating the problem to the front desk was a challenge as well. They didn’t seem to understand exactly what I was saying
Me: “My ceiling fell in.”
Them: Stunned silence. “What?” Implied response: Ceilings don’t fall in. Not in our perfect building, you crazy foreigner, what have you been drinking?
Off in the distance, a bellhop calls out to me: “Good morning!”
I whip out my phone, show them the photo of the hole where the ceiling used to be.
Me: “See? The ceiling fell in.”
Them: “Do you want us to fix it for you?”
Another employee walks past, calling out to me: “Have a nice day!”
Me: “Yes of course I want you to fix it. Right now would be a good time.”
Them: “Can we go into your apartment to fix it?”
Me: (Thinking: how else the hell you going to fix it?!) “Why, yes, you sure can.”
When I got home that night, the ceiling was “fixed.”
I suspect they didn’t want to do a very good job of fixing the ceiling, because they expected to fall in again in the very near future. I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened, either.