sometimes you just want a shotgun
Jul. 23rd, 2003 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chhotiiToday, for various reasons, I feel a strong need to nest in my own nest and have some personal space.
So I go home during the day today to find that further "progress" has been made on "improving" our apartment. Clearly Bob the Landlord is using a definition of "improve" that I was not previously familiar with. Some of his improvements have been good; the new toilet and the re-glazed have been appreciated. But some have been random fiddling with things which are, at best, of questionable value. This started with painting the mailboxes white, ruining the nice shiny metallic finish they used to have. Next came replacing the floor in the front entranceway with lovely new hardwood flooring, a boneheaded move. Lovely new hardwood flooring sounds nice, but you do not want lovely new hardwood flooring in an entranceway, the first flooring boots will touch after the mud, snow, slush, or grit of the New England outdoors. Either this is to never be used as an entranceway again (making the space nearly useless) or the lovely new hardwood flooring is going to get ruined. We have lost our staging area for bikes and other outdoorsy things, and gained nothing. For both classy and practical, I would have suggested slate.
Today's destructions, I mean improvements, are 1) the doorknob was tightened, to the point where I was unable to open the door from the inside and 2) more kitchen cabinet doors have been removed, and the process of painting the kitchen cabinets white has begun. What is Bob's fetish with white paint? OK, the existing wood veneer is rather drab, but I don't think white will look much better in that kitchen. Why can't he have saved all the money he's spent on white paint and bought a new doorknob, one that doesn't self-destruct and can be used for both opening and closing the door? So now the chaos in the kitchen has been increased, the apartment stinks of paint fumes, and there was a man standing in my kitchen, painting, when I wanted to sit in my kitchen for my lawyer phonecall. I wish I were the owner of the property so I could throw the workman the hell out. ("Yes, I know you have this work order. Not today.")
I needed to sleep in my own bed tonight, but I hate paint fumes.
So I go home during the day today to find that further "progress" has been made on "improving" our apartment. Clearly Bob the Landlord is using a definition of "improve" that I was not previously familiar with. Some of his improvements have been good; the new toilet and the re-glazed have been appreciated. But some have been random fiddling with things which are, at best, of questionable value. This started with painting the mailboxes white, ruining the nice shiny metallic finish they used to have. Next came replacing the floor in the front entranceway with lovely new hardwood flooring, a boneheaded move. Lovely new hardwood flooring sounds nice, but you do not want lovely new hardwood flooring in an entranceway, the first flooring boots will touch after the mud, snow, slush, or grit of the New England outdoors. Either this is to never be used as an entranceway again (making the space nearly useless) or the lovely new hardwood flooring is going to get ruined. We have lost our staging area for bikes and other outdoorsy things, and gained nothing. For both classy and practical, I would have suggested slate.
Today's destructions, I mean improvements, are 1) the doorknob was tightened, to the point where I was unable to open the door from the inside and 2) more kitchen cabinet doors have been removed, and the process of painting the kitchen cabinets white has begun. What is Bob's fetish with white paint? OK, the existing wood veneer is rather drab, but I don't think white will look much better in that kitchen. Why can't he have saved all the money he's spent on white paint and bought a new doorknob, one that doesn't self-destruct and can be used for both opening and closing the door? So now the chaos in the kitchen has been increased, the apartment stinks of paint fumes, and there was a man standing in my kitchen, painting, when I wanted to sit in my kitchen for my lawyer phonecall. I wish I were the owner of the property so I could throw the workman the hell out. ("Yes, I know you have this work order. Not today.")
I needed to sleep in my own bed tonight, but I hate paint fumes.
