Ripped from the Hinges

If I didn't know better, I'd say that our apartment was under some sort of voodoo spell. It seems that every time one thing is fixed, something else goes wrong, as if there's a miniature replica of our apartment out there and a maniacal puppeteer is twisting and breaking bits and pieces of it. While the logical part of my brain knows that repair problems can more likely be blamed on shoddy contracting, the creative part is entertaining other theories. I'm keeping an open mind, and right now, voodoo is at the top of the list, followed closely by gremlins and naughty elves.

Our forced move was sugar-coated with these selling points/promises for the new apartment: faster internet, better TVs, no more work crews, more comfortable furniture, more storage space (if we were 7 feet tall), and everything in working order. Did I believe it? Yes, I did. Can you say "sucker!"?

So far, the sink has broken (gremlins?), the TVs lose satellite signal whenever we make a cell call (coincidence?), the internet is slower and loses connection at least 15 times a day (Windows Vista?), the desk drawer has broken (termites?), the building is still being carpeted and painted (work crew defiance?), our hot water went tepid (cost control?), and we've had a cabinet problem. Actually we've had two cabinet problems. I'll focus on that story.

On Day 1 of our new apartment, I discovered this.

Now, I'm not a contractor, but I'm fairly certain that the light is not supposed to be in the way of the cabinets. When I complained about this annoyance, I was told that I should decide how I wanted them to fix the cabinet door and then get back to them. My options were to have them saw the corner of the door off so it would open properly (really?), or they could reposition the light. Option A seemed the least invasive but would look, well, awful, and Option B would mean a work crew in my kitchen for God-only-knew how long. I wasn't up for making such difficult decisions at that point (I had future residents to consider after all), so I just lived with the inconvenience but swore under my breath every time I opened the cabinet. Until this happened.

That's right, the cabinet door under the sink fell off its hinges. I opened the door to take out the trash, and it came off in my hand. (Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually strong enough to rip cabinet doors from their hinges.) I tried fitting the door back to the hinges a few times, but after it fell on my toes for the third time (this time the swearing was not under my breath), I decided to call customer service. So I dialed the new 800 number stuck by magnet to my refrigerator and followed the prompts all the way to a fax machine--three times. Now I'm not a customer service rep, but I'm pretty sure that's not good for making happy customers.

So I hobbled over to our desk (the broken-drawered one), with toe still throbbing, and proceeded to dig through the piles of papers not yet fully sorted from our pre-move move to find the old customer service number-- the one that wasn't supposed to work anymore. It worked. Fortunately, the corporate customer service people were super nice, not like the desk people, who once told a friend that they would get right on her request since she never asked for much. Since I seemed to be having daily problems, I would definitely not fit in that category. Corporate customer service, on the other hand, doesn't care how many times I complain, or at least I can't tell that they care. Their calls are recorded and followed up with surveys. They also don't "forget" to put in a work order.

The next day, the contractors responsible for the renovations showed up to fix both of my cabinet door problems. They even came at the time I had specified, which was actually a little surprising. When I left them to go pick up Benjy from preschool, they were moving the kitchen light fixture over a few inches. I was gone a couple of hours, but when I got back, both cabinet doors seemed to be in order. That is, until I tried to open the one under the sink, and it came off in my hand--again. As you already know, I'm no contractor, but I'm pretty sure that if the "fixed" cabinet door comes off in your hand, it was never really fixed.

Luckily, Chris was home, so he went to tell the desk people that the "fixed" cabinet door was not so fixed. I suggested he take a visual aid with him to use on their heads, but he declined and left the offending door behind. I actually chased him out the door with it in hand, insisting that he use it to display my displeasure with the situation. Sometimes he's just too sensible. The desk people greeted Chris by name and apartment number--definitely not a good sign. (I blame the voodoo apartment.) They were also appalled that the door had come off again, although not as appalled as they would have been had I shown up with the door in hand. This time they assured us someone would actually try it out before declaring it "fixed." This time?! Shouldn't that be common practice?

Someone was in our apartment within the hour to fix the door again. The guys claimed that they had glued the hinges back onto the cabinet, but I couldn't find any glue. (Maybe it had gotten lost when I had wrenched the door from its hinges with my tiny lady hands.) I suggested that they just install a whole new door, and they actually took my advice. (Maybe I should be a contractor.) Then, they even took that extraordinary step of testing it before leaving. The cabinet door is now functioning properly; however, I am still watching the overhead lighting fixture with caution should it come crashing down on my head.

If anyone knows who's working voodoo on my apartment, please beg them to have mercy. We have less than three weeks left, and I'm pretty sure I've worn out customer service's welcome.