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my place may be a dump

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Recently, my apartment's plumbing has been exhibiting some strange behaviour. I'd suddenly hear some gurgling and flushing sounds from the kitchen sink. Which can be pretty disconcerting.

Last night the damn thing plugged up. Some initial exploration with the building manager - Danny, a friendly and competent fellow - revealed that the plug wasn't in the trap. So a plumber was going to be required.

This morning the plumber arrived. And to his surprise, he found that the jam seemed to be either in the 2" pipe into which my sink's outlet dumps almost immediately. Less than half a metre beyond that was the 3" pipe that descends the length of the building. He was certain that that couldn't be plugged, and after routing around with his snake for a while decided that the blockage must be gone. He put everything back together and tried the water.

Sure enough, I've got a functioning sink.

Between the crooked floors, the too-low stair ways, the antique collection of washers and dryers, and the wonky plumbing it's really starting to kick in how much inferior this place is to my past few apartments. But that's in keeping with the rest of the city, which is run-down and a bit dodgy.