It went downhill from there.
“No. I have a cat. But I used to walk my roommate’s dog in college… Well, no. Not professionally. I didn’t realize it was a profession,” I said, trying not to sound like a sassy-pants.
But apparently it was a profession. Who knew?
“Oh sure, sure. Well, thanks anyway. Goodbye.”
Oh well. Another dream bites the dust. Normally they died a slow, lingering death. But at least this one was quick and painless. I just wanted a cup of tea and a relaxing night in my newly cleaned apartment. As I walked in and shut the door, the vibrations must have travelled thru the walls.
There was a crash. As if a meteorite smashed thru the ceiling. And then the screeching sound of a terrified cat.
Enormous hunks of wet, moldy drywall hit my floor as bits of plaster, sand and cement rose up beneath the cloud of toxic dust forming in the air.
“Oh my god! Heidi! Heidi?”
I ran to the pile of rubble and, bare-handed, began tossing hunks of ceiling aside like a rabid search and rescue dog. It was the first time in my life I’d been too scared to cry. I dreaded seeing the mound of bloodied grey tabby fur as my hands got closer to the bottom of the pile. Just then, I saw it. Not under the collapse, but the flicker of a white-tipped tail as it crawled behind the sofa for safety.
“Heidi?” I said as I jumped up and peered behind the dark crevice of the sofa. There she was. I guess. It was hard to tell. But there was definitely a cat back there and it seemed okay. Probably wouldn’t come out for days after this.
I looked up and saw that a portion of the ceiling, abut the size of a twin bed, had finally succumbed to the rain and erosion. A few remaining hunks dangled precariously, held up only by a thin fragment of damp cardboard. Sand, plaster and cement were everywhere.
Before it got dark, I decided to head up to the roof. The door was generally left open for cable men and phone guys to gain access. No alarm would go off this time as I pushed open the “Roof Access” door.
There were only four units on every floor. I’d wondered why my apartment seemed to be the only one retaining water. The roof answered a lot of questions. First of all, the roof slanted. In my direction. Lucky me. Any water hitting the roof ran off from the other three corners of the building and into mine. I stepped carefully on the sheets of rotting roofing material that bubbled and squished under my feet.
And then I discovered the hole. About the size of a bowling ball. I looked directly into the hole and was able to see the wooden rafters of my ceiling below. Well, here was the problem. Anyone could see that.
I tried to call Alex, but got his voicemail and left a message. There was nothing else to do put on my rain boots, my rubber gloves, wrap a scarf around my face and begin the clean-up.
Again.
Four hours later, after I’d hauled at least ten bags of heavy, wet drywall down to the dumpster, things seemed at least somewhat back in order. As I began to make a cup of soothing herbal tea, I noticed there was a message on my phone. Thank god. Alex had come thru.
“Dorrie, this is Melissa from Dr. Prince’s office. Just confirming your appointment for tomorrow at six o’clock. If you are unable to make your appointment, please call our office no later than 24 hours in advance or a missed appointment fee of fifty dollars will apply.”
What?
I looked at the clock. It was nine pm. And I didn’t recall making an appointment.
All the next day went by without a peep from Alex. At work, I went online and Googled, “How to repair a roof”.
It looked pretty hard.
As I left work that evening, it started to rain.
But inside the coffee shop, Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters were singing “Mele Kalikimaka” because apparently that’s why you say on a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day.
“Would you like to try our special Christmas Blend?”
“No. Just coffee. Regular coffee.”
”We’re running a special today on plum pudding bars…”
“No. Just coffee.”
“…and our Crisp Snowflake Mints.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Look, I’m sorry…but Christmas is ONE DAY. And you and every other business stretch this one day out to one-sixth of the year to sell a bunch of Christmas stuff that nobody wants or needs. I’m sorry, but it’s November. I don’t want the Christmas Blend. It’s too early. I’m not in the mood yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. And how can you listen to this music? What are you so happy about? Why are you so happy about this?”
I stood there just perplexed on the edge of my seat. Waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know,” she said nervously. “I just am, I guess. I’m sorry.”
She’s probably a nice young lady. But I couldn’t take it anymore. Someone had to point out that it was November. And since New Yorkers don’t like to get involved, I guess it had to be me.
“Um….yeah. I got you scheduled today for six o’clock,” the receptionist said as she pointed at the computer screen with a two inch-long fingernail.
“But I didn’t make an appointment.”
“Oh yes you did,” she said, as her head began to weave in and out of her giant hooped earrings.
“When I left last week,” I pointed out in perfect calm and clarity, “I came to you and paid my fifteen dollar co-pay and you said ‘thank you’ and that was the end of
