The boiler broke down in our apartment building last night. My husband came to pick me up from work and he informed me of the situation on the way home. There, in our apartment driveway, was this rusting hulk of metal. We both laughed at the fact the thing made it this far. Luckily, we purchased an electric fireplace last year because we missed our old, REAL fireplace and it spits out heat like nobody's business. Well, like electric fireplace maker's business, I guess. I felt slightly guilty at not inviting anyone from other (perhaps less fortunate) apartments to come over and huddle. I wish we could be a super-friendly-community, but, *sigh* we aren't (Evidence of this: nasty notes discouraging obnoxious laundry hours and stealing apartment number one's Saturday newspaper). I also imagined a nice holiday beer/wine meet & greet but, meh, we are leaving soon and moving to a house so why put in the effort? ...I hate city living. The apathy it instills is depressing.
Speaking of the house. We swung by last night after dark to discern, as best we could, the work that had been completed. We were met by a gaping 40 x 40 foot hole, about 4 feet deep. The excavator ran out of gravel surge to fill the hole to make an engineered pad, so that's what they were going to do today. Actually, correction, they misquoted us on how much (a known volume of) gravel would be needed, and so now they are adding about $1500 to the bill on account of "not having enough". Grr... this is why we should get things in writing. I've tried to force the excavators & foundation people to sign, but they always have an excuse. Without hubby backing me up, I get a weak comment like "are you a lawyer or something?" & a shrug. Fine for now, we have the money. Not so good later when we're scrounging for pennies.
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