Last Friday, as I was returning to the building, I met a woman retrieving a condo key from one of the multitude of key lockers attached to the tiny fence that surrounds the front of our parking spaces on the east side of the building. We chatted for a few seconds as we made our way into the building, me tracking Beaut, watching to see if she would be helpful and deliver her saliva-soaked ball to our doorstep, and the woman being careful to avoid brushing against the wet dog. I went inside and had just wiped down the dog and removed my outside layer of clothing when there was a knock at the front door, an unusual event as our entrance is inside the building. I figured that it was the lady I had just talked with and was somewhat annoyed for the intrusion - I cringe to think what it'll be like when Darr and I move to a home with a door left open to the knocking hands of the public - but I opened the door because I figured since that lady had seen me walk into my home the "I'll be super quiet and pretend I'm not here" ploy was not likely to work.
She explained that on her way to her condo, which she is in the process of selling and has already moved out of, she noticed a dripping sound coming from the common room. (Darr and I share a wall with the common room so I'm thinking this could turn out to be not good for us.) I grab my key card and follow her down the hall. We open up the door and holy schnikes, that's a lot of water! Immediately I surmise there is a problem with the sprinkler system as the first fountain of water I see pouring from the ceiling happens to be at one of the sprinkler heads. Then I notice the other puddles forming and that, upon further inspection, water seems to be erupting into the room from any number of sources. (Think Jennifer Connelly in Dark Water.) Fuck. This ain't good.
So I rush back to our condo and call our local management company. On a typical call to our rep, I'm stonewalled and shoved into voicemail faster than you can say "voicemail". It's amazing the power the word flood contains. The receptionist put me on hold for less than five seconds before the line was picked up and I heard our account rep on the phone. I explained what I saw.
Lisa: "Now, is it a drip?"
Me: "Nah, it's pouring. There are standing puddles everywhere. In front of the door, down the hallway in front of the bathrooms, in the kitchen--"
Lisa: "So, it's not a drip."
Me: "No. It's a downpour. All over."
Lisa: "This typically happens at 4pm so this is good. [It's around 2pm.] I'll call the plumber and get the restoration company out there to start ripping up the drywall and flooring. Thanks."
Me: "No problem. I'll be here if anyone needs help getting into the building or the common room."
Lisa: "Okay. Great. [Clearly not, but okay, I understand you are professionally bound to not drop the f-bomb while on the job.] Thanks, Christie, for the call."
I've heard a few drips within the walls but have yet to see any actual water in our home. We've since heard that pipes broke in the attic - we have an attic? - and that the water traveled down this one main path, causing damage to the common room, and rooms 205, 305, and 405. This sucks for those homeowners, of course, but bodes well for us. Or it did until our across-the-hall neighbor mentioned that she had heard 203, the condo directly above ours, has sustained water damage.
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