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May 06, 2008

1538: Good grief.

I blame myself for a lot of what happened today, if only because I told Pete "It can't possibly get any worse."

Oh, but it can -- and it did!

Our fridge died on Sunday. Naturally, this was right after we had restocked it with a massive amount of groceries -- I mean, why wouldn't that happen? I heard a hissing noise and, after a little investigating, determined the source to be our freezer's cooling system. The coolant was escaping through a pinhole, and after determining that we probably wouldn't die as a result of this situation, Pete set about trying to stop the leak. Long story short, the only thing that stopped that insane hissing was layer upon layer of epoxy.

Good news: No more refrigerant to inhale!
Bad news: No more refrigerator!

The problems didn't stop there. We've always had trouble with the sink drain in the bathroom. It's an old apartment with old pipes, and as such, it's not uncommon for there to be sluggish and clogged sinks. That's normal, but whatever we had these past few days was profoundly abnormal.

The more we tried to fix the clog, the worse things seemed to get. "Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better," Pete reminded me. I reminded him of that this morning when I discovered he'd stayed up until 1 AM trying to make some kind of progress with that goddamn sink. And given that the entire sink basis was full of the crazy industrial drain cleaner we'd bought a few days ago, I would have to assume that things could only get better since they really couldn't conceivably get WORSE.

I was wrong.

Our super came to check out our fridge, although we had assured him it was 100% broken. I suppose he had some kind of obligation to the property manager to check it out, but when they said they'd be sending the super over to look at it, I heard Pete say he could tell them what he'd see: a broken refrigerator. And that's exactly what he saw this morning. He also saw our clogged sink full of acid. To put a fine point on it, our sink looked like something from out of a Japanese horror movie. If a hand had reached out and grabbed me, I really wouldn't have been that surprised. Grossed out, yes, but not terribly surprised.

I should mention that prior to his arrival, I had been getting myself ready for work in the bathroom. Just as I was wrapping things up, I felt my toe touch something wet on the bathroom floor. It felt like water but not quite. In fact, it wasn't water at all. It was that insane drain cleaner! The stuff had eaten through our pipes and soaked everything I kept stored under the sink. Keep in mind this stuff is severely acidic, so a lot had to be thrown away - and with great care. Pete took care of most of this, knowing that my involvement would only make things worse because I'd probably blind myself in the process. We put a mixing bowl under the sink to catch the dripping acid... and it ate up the bowl!

So, by the time the super arrived to look at the broke fridge and deal with the annoying little clog in the bathroom, he had walked into a situation which he probably wasn't entirely ready for. Who would be? Evidently, they engaged in some kind of chemical warfare with the sink - and lost. In an attempt to beat the clog, conceivably after having tried other methods (although I think Pete had exhausted most of these already), the super added another cleaner to the mix.

I recall a moment I spent with my mom in our basement when I was little. She was cleaning something and turned to tell me for added emphasis that I should never, EVER mix ___ and ___. I have totally forgotten what those two things are, so this bit of chemical wisdom is forever lost to me. I think, like most people, I just take for grated that cleaning supplies are purposefully weak so you'll buy more or something. I'm not sure. I've just never devoted any time to revisiting this moment with my mom in order to figure out what cleaning products to avoid mixing in order to avoid my untimely demise.

I'm going to guess that while may not have specified "strange, skull-covered industrial cleaning product you bought because it looked badass" and "some kind of random cleaning product your super feels inclined to use on your drain," she would probably advise against that combination. I wasn't there to witness it (more on that shortly), but from what I understand, the sink started bubbling like something and produced a stink so toxic it was still in the air six hours later when I arrived back at the apartment.

Whatever chemical reaction occurred in the sink made the super sick, and caused both he and Pete (who valiantly grabbed my rabbit, lest it be subjected to the toxic smell and die because rabbits are even more fragile than you'd assume them to be) to flee from the apartment. They weighed calling Poison Control. Pete suggested they get masks before they attempted to go back in, and if Pete would suggest this, it must have been bad. I have watched Pete stubbornly suffer all kinds of insane, painful things rather than calling for help because that's just the kind of person he is. In fact, the other day, he came home from a run with a sneaker full of blood because he'd cut his foot open while he was out -- and this was not in any way concerning to him. So, if Pete was concerned about this toxic air in the apartment, my guess is it was pretty bad.

Eventually, they were able to return to the apartment. The super has a terrible headache. They both have burning sensations in their chests, and Pete has been coughing all day as a result. The bunny is largely indifferent, and may have already forgotten the day's events.

I rushed home early to try and pressure Pete into seeing a doctor. He'd been keeping me apprised of the situation in the apartment by Blackberry messenger as I ran around at work and made my way to a meeting with a prospective client. In the rush, I found myself in a cab without cash and forced to pay with credit card.

I have deleted a section of this entry in which I describe the brawl I had with a cabbie over my need to pay with a credit card. Jon makes a good point that I can't dwell on incidents like these, even though they make my blood boil. I'll say this, though: You have a right, legally, to pay for a cab ride in NYC with a credit card. Anyone who attempts to keep you from doing so (as many cabbies feel the credit card system they're legally obligated to provide riders rips them off, to oversimplify a bit) is breaking the law. And a jerk.

I composed myself and went on with my day, but as I became increasingly concerned about Pete, I worked out a way to go home and check on him.

Four floors down from our apartment, and some six hours after the drain incident, I could smell the chemical smell Pete had described. And, now, some 12 hours later... it's better but it's not entirely gone. We've had the windows open and the fans going all day and night.

I don't want to jinx anything by saying that things can only get better because I know what sort of excitement that thinking invites - and I want nothing to do with it!

Posted by ashley at May 6, 2008 10:17 PM

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