Apparently when you don't have heat for an extended amount of time on a very blistery winter day, the pipes burst, which is what I found when I arrived at home yesterday afternoon. I walked into a small river of water (see diagram below) throughout the entry way. I immediately searched for a mop but was interrupted by the doorbell. I greeted a middle aged man who asked me how the "situation" was. I asked him who the heck he was. Turns out, he was the landlord. This is where the fun begins, as Erin isn't supposed to have roommates. I calmly told him Erin called me to see if I could swing by to check things out for her. I wasn't exactly lying nor was I really being truthful. He appeared to by it.
Turned out, he received a phone call from the neighbors because water was seeping under the wall into their laundry room. I explained to him the situation with the oil man (leaving out the part about the oil running out). He was very helpful and friendly about the mess. He offered to clean up the water with his handy dandy wet/dry shop vac. I enthusiastically accepted his offer and proceeded to telephone Erin to ask her what she would like me to do about this very precarious situation. Meanwhile, he vacuumed up the water in the laundry room, then he cleaned up the mess in the playroom. While the water was all gone, the rugs were exceptionally soggy and gross. (At this point, the temperature hit a high of 55 degrees F. You can imagine how excited I was to hear the humming of the furnace.) Mr. Landlord and I chatted briefly until it dawned on him that there might be water in the room next to the playroom. Of course, it did not occur to me, as I was too busy pretending not to live there. You can imagine my utter dismay and complete embarrassment when he asked if we could go into MY BEDROOM to see if there was any water that needed cleaning up. It is very difficult to pretend you do not live somewhere when your shit is all over the room with the closed door. Did I mention the pictures of my FAMILY and friends I had on the bookshelf and desk? I dreadfully opened the door to the room so we could scope out the scene. He looked at me with a smile and said, "So, you live with these guys?" Probably the most awkward and mortifying moment of my life until he started helping me move my belongings out of the way of the water flooding my bedroom. The day reached it's lowest point when he started to move my laundry baskets out of the closet, which required him to pick up my grey Victoria's Secret undies off the floor. Beyond horrified, I sorted through the soggy books and magazines on the bookshelf and floor. I was speechless. My room was a disaster. The landlord discovered our dirty little secret and fondled my dirty laundry- Did I mentioned he touched my undies? Cause I don't think I've even had a boyfriend touch my undies off the floor like that. Nope, never. I almost died from embarrassment. Of course all of this would happen the one day my room was a disaster with the laundry on the floor, magazines spread out in a little row along the wall, books everywhere, a table piled with papers in dire need of sorting, and just a plain old mess because I've been terribly busy. Note to self: NEVER BE TOO BUSY TO CLEAN YOUR ROOM!!! Also, did I mention the bit where I'm not supposed to be living there and I was pretending to be a friend who stopped by about thirty seconds before we entered the room? Kind of difficult to continue to pretend when you get caught red handed with your hand in the cookie jar (or with your face randomly plastered in frames on the bookshelf.)
He didn't seem too bothered by the incident, as he happily vacuumed up the water and asked that we let the carpets air out. On his way next door, he requested we call him if we needed anything else and said farewell. I turned to look at the wreckage that once was my room and desperately wished to run far far away.
Needless to say, my socks are perpetually wet and my feet are covered in permafrost. The carpets are two seconds away from being blasted by hair dryers in an attempt to remove the water plaguing them. Books are ruined, although ironically enough, the only ones damaged beyond repair were the Accounting ones. I think it's a sign. The pile of magazines that were ruined were the only ones I did not like, Gourmet. At least one half of my room isn't a marsh. So I guess it could have been worse....
Of course, I left out the part where Erin made me run into the garage to check the oil tank much to my absolute exasperation. I was hyperventilating when I opened the door and heard the mice. Luckily, she told me to pull up my skirt and to run to the closet to check the tank. I did as I was told. Of course, I thought this was going to be the worst part of the afternoon. Thirty minutes later, I was proven wrong. (Enter Landlord.)
Morals of the story: 1) Do not try to pretend you do not live somewhere when there is a disaster and the Landlord is present. 2) Always, Always keep your room clean. You never know when a pipe will burst, flood the room, and thereby require your landlord to fondle your skivvies. 3) Never, I mean NEVER run out of oil.
To aide in understanding the disaster area better: