Here are Ten Terrifying New York Housing Stories to Mess Up Your Day

4. Shower Party Favors:

The ceiling above the bathtub dripped for over a year. Luckily, it was the best place to have a leak. But the thing dripped almost daily.

The super, management and 311 were called on a biweekly basis. The super would come, paint over the leak and the new paint would fall into the tub with that night's dripping.

One day it was real bad. Water bubbles appear all over the ceiling, a stream of water running down the walls. The super told me he'd be over in 20 minutes. I wanted to take a quick shower, so I hopped in. I stepped forward to pick up the soap and the ceiling caved in on me. But it wasn't just the drywall, oh no, the ceiling had all sorts of goodies stuffed in it: a Trader Joes bag, tiles, sponges, t-shirts, towels, rags, tupperware. It was as if the previous tenants made the same complaints and the super just stuffed junk in to absorb the leak.

The super repaired the leak by patching the hole, and the whole process repeated itself over and over again. He told me there was no leak.

After over 20 calls to 311 a lawyer contacted me (how did they find out?). I told management it just three weeks ago they retiled the bathroom upstairs and redid our ceiling. It hasn't leaked since.

Appropriate reaction:

3. All the rats everywhere:

I was living in Bushwick, and after Sandy, a lot of Brooklyn's rats got pushed inland. One night i heard a rustle, something got got on a plastic bag. It was too loud to be a mouse. After investigating my girlfriend and I found large droppings under the sink, so we invested in glue traps. The next night, the rat got into a bag of cadbury eggs left on the table. So I think: great, they like chocolate. I put the eggs on the glue traps hoping it would catch it. The next morning, I woke up to see all of the eggs plucked off. Smart bastard. So instead of placing the glue traps in different parts of the kitchen, I put them all together like one large glue trap valley, and this time it worked. Later that night I heard a squeaking and the rat got all jumbled up in traps, hysterically scampering across the floor. I had to throw another glue trap on top of it, making a bit of a rat-trap sandwich. I knew I had to kill it as reminded by my girlfriend, standing on a chair screaming bloody murder -- it was honestly the largest animal I've ever had to kill. Rising to the occasion, I crushed it with my foot until the squeaking stopped. You know in movies when the villain suffocates the person in the hospital with a pillow? It was kind of like that.

I lifted my foot and took a deep breath -- sending a prayer out to the rat gods. There was silence for a moment. An then it started squeaking... again. Because, as I would find out later, rats can RESTART their fucking hearts. So we go through the whole excruciating scene again, with the suffocating with the foot like the villain with the pillow in the hospital until this time I was sure it was dead. I didn't pray to the rat gods that time. Undead fucker.

Crisis over. Right? What I didn't know was that, when you see one means there are hundreds. Rats are routine based, they have a list of stops per day, and if they put you on their schedule, there is no way getting off of it. So it began that every night, as soon as the sun went down, they came. Like gremlins. The following things actually happened:

  • woke rat up after getting home from work, was sleeping in my sweater
  • rat jumped out of garbage, as I was discarding soup contents.
  • woke rat up after getting home from a show, was sleeping in my bed.
  • scratching, lots of scratching everywhere.
  • dead rat under kitchen table
  • rat staring at me having sex
  • rats playing in the walls. loudly.
  • two rats hiding out in my kitchen
  • rat poop on my bed
Appropriate reaction:

when my friends send me a disgusting picture thinking it will be funny

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