That is, literally, physically stole it.
Where I assume the bits responsible for making the water hot once resided—but then I really have no idea.
Woke up this morning with no hot water, went to work without having showered, came home on my break to sort out what I thought must be a billing problem, and after several calls ended up speaking to the body corporate.
Turns out that last night someone physically stole the mechanical parts of the apartment complex that provide the hot water. Like, to the entire complex.
Who would do such a thing and why completely eludes me, but there you have it.
So there we have it: what started out as a mere fantasy when I was four or five years old has actually been realised. I am now a fully qualified tram driver.
I’m going to be unseen and unheard for the next two weeks while I tie up loose ends at my current job. (Work is occupying all of my very little energy reserve at the moment.)
I have a week and a bit off after that between this job and the next, during which I’ll be pretty much free for all.
As of Thursday November 4, I will be driving trams.
My nose and throat are chock full of carbon. I’m not sure whether this is due to some sort of internal combustion in my head triggered by receiving this offer, or because I left a candle alight in my bedroom overnight. I’m hoping it’s the latter.
In other news, my CFS has relapsed. I’m going to be laying low while that sorts itself out.
I’ve had enough of computers—at least in the professional sense.
With this decision made, my notice has been handed in at work and now I must decide how the 40 hours a week of keeping the roof over my head will soon be spent. (Not that that roof will always keep my head dry, as it turns out.) And the fact that “something completely different” comprises countless possibilities is somewhat daunting.
What should you do when a light fitting in your apartment starts gushing litres of water?
Just submitted a notice of intention to vacate to my landlord. Where I will be living as of Monday August 16 is currently a mystery.
First real risk ever of being pulled over for drug testing, and what happens? The cop who’s selecting the subjects examines me through my windscreen and motions me onward.
We have previously established that my appearance alone (or perhaps the way I walk) tells people that I don’t approve of rape. What is it about the appearance of my upper body that makes me seem so unlikely to drive under the influence of drugs or alcohol?
Mind you, given that the selection process was clearly more than just random, I’m sure I’d be asking the inverse question if I were pulled over. Since I go to no effort to look nice for work though, I think I’d be less surprised in that scenario.