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See also: Angry letter to my landlord about DSL, various day logs.

Called the building management again today. argh.

I love my apartment. I mean really. Coming out of the dorm (if you don't count being homeless) into my apartment was probably the best living situation transition I've ever partaken. It's awesome; it's secure, spacious, somewhat convenient, and just nice.

I have a really crappy shower head in my shower. There's very little water pressure, and the pressure that is there is sprayed in this horrible perfect circle that is the only spray; there's nothing within the circle shooting water. I can barely ever get all the soap out of my short hair. It's a problem.

I really like the security. There's two huge like iron gates that you have to go through to just get into my like mini-neighborhood within the complex. Then there's a door to my building and my front door. All protecting me from the trash nomads and crackwhores on the street. And I'm all cool with the security guards; they're cool guys. I feel basically safe there.

My toilet hiccups. Kinda weird really, but annoying too because it has clogged on me (not on me). It makes terrible sucking sounds when it hiccups as well. It's nothing the Draino could cure; I need a maintenance guy to come fix it.

My room is so big. I did claim the master bedroom since I was living there alone all summer, but still. I appreciate it. It's so super huge in comparison to not only the dorm, but also the room I had in Taylorville. There's a plenty of room in the living room as well, and although the kitchen's a little tight in cabinet space, it's still pretty good.

My patio has what I've been calling a burn scar on it. It looks like someone was cooking on a grill and spilling a whole bunch of grease on the balcony there and burned a little 5 inch circle into it. And the balcony's just nasty anyway; its dirty, dark brown paint is coming up a little, and the shitty wood it's made of is starting to come up too.

The location of my apartment is convenient for me and my roommates. We live in central Chicago for a very low three-bedroom rent. Sam and me are a 10 to 15 minute train ride from school with only 2 blocks walk on top of that. Derek's school is just a 10 minute commute via his car. I can get on the bus on the corner of the street where I live and go to work with only 2 blocks walk from the bus to work. It's a good location. I'm lucky.

I called the building management today (what all other places in the world call a "landlord") and complained (what else?). I requested a work order that Mel, this one maintenance guy was given to come and replace my shower head and fix the toilet the week before last. He left a copy of the work order on my kitchen counter, that I saw when I got home that day:

Services Requested: Service Completed (scrawled by Mel, the maintenance guy): Sure. He checked things. Didn't fix one goddamn thing. No mail key was to be found. I called back last week and said he didn't change the shower head and that the toilet was still hiccupping. Fine. They made another work order:

Service Requested: Service Completed: Yeah. They sent Mel. There's a fucking army of maintenance guys and they send the same guy. He didn't do anything again. So I called back today. Waited on hold for a total I think of about 15 minutes for a 3 minute call.

Get this--I got to talk to Mel. They fucking put him on the phone. I was like "well if I can't wash the soap out of my hair what good is a shower head?" and he just insisted that it was fine.

Where's the professionalism here? Part of being a big complex and not a single fat guy owning the place is a tinge of respectability. Putting the maintenance guy that a resident is complaining about on the phone is not respectability. I was then told by the management that other residents have made the exact same complaint about the shower heads. ... Um,

FIX the fucking things!!!

Now don't get me wrong. I love my apartment. There's just some minor problems...that's all.

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