Well, we have a nice view. And a sweet doorbell. Other than giving us those high-life perks, Harborview 402 has been as gracious a host as Norman Bates.
I mean, at least Bates’ hotel showers drained.
We thought we were moving into the lap of luxury when Gannon told us that it was tearing down University Apartments and that we’d have first dibs on a place in Harborview.
For the extra half-a-thousand dollars, I figured that I’d have all my housing worries expunged.
Heck, if I was lucky I might get room service or a bed literally made out of cumulus clouds.
Can you say, “Suite Life of Zack, Josh and Justin?”
Too bad the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry.
None of us has completely settled into our Harborview home nearly six months into our junior year, and it isn’t because I have yet to put up all my Lady Gaga posters.
Maybe it’s because we’re bitter about University’s destruction. The grandfather of Gannon housing, although old, gave off an indescribable homey vibe.
Or maybe because Harborview has given us more problems than a black lab puppy with a small bladder.
It wasn’t even the original $100 and couple hours’ work we spent to clean our Englishman-yellow-teeth colored bathroom that made me sour.
I even let it slide that our carpet needed replacing about three decades ago when our kitchen appliances were purchased.
In fact, it wasn’t until two bathroom tiles fell off our wall – mid-shower, nearly crushing my metatarsals – that things literally started to fall apart.
During maintenance’s only visit to our apartment they told us to stop using the shower in the bedroom as they didn’t want water soaking into the wall.
We abided by the request and used the hallway shower until we realized a week later that no one was coming back.
In reality, we only stopped using the shower because we didn’t like playing in the recently developed makeshift kiddy pool when it didn’t drain.
The shower drainage bug must be going around as both bathroom sinks have become a couple of Hoover Dams.
Little did I know that not only do our sinks horde liquid, but they’re also skilled in water torture. It doesn’t matter how tight I turn the faucet, all I hear is drip, drip, drip.
But I guess I could do something to take my mind off the matter – or liquid. I could go on the Internet, but I’m not sure whether my wireless connection or Paris Hilton has worked more this past school year.
I could leave the apartment altogether or take time out to do laundry. That’s feasible – if it didn’t cost $1.25 to wash my clothes and I didn’t have to shave between elevator rides.
Well, when I think about it, I guess things could be a lot worse.
We could have bedbugs, too.
