After yet another weekend of apartment squalor and the sink piled high with filthy dishes, I got a panicked phone call from A last night. The sink was overflowing, she said. Did I have the number for the landlord?
It's impossible to overstate how glad I was to be at Lunchboy's house.
She must have called the landlord because when I came home from work today, there were two plumbers sitting at the kitchen table and parts of the sink were strewn all over the kitchen. I noticed a few baking pans tucked strategically under the sink--she must have tried to catch the overflow with clean dishes.
"What do you think caused the backup?" I asked the plumbers.
"Not sure yet, but it's probably food-related," one of them said.
I went to yoga and when I got back, A was sprawled on the couch.
"What did the plumber say was wrong with the sink?" I asked.
"They said it was rice," she replied. "But I don't believe them. I think it must have been someone above or below us that backed it up."
Right. Because the people above and below us let their dirty dishes accumulate until the sink resembles a Mt. Everest of filth. God knows what went down that drain but I'm waiting to see if she bothers to wash the floor after letting nasty water spill everywhere.