A Little Caulk

July 12, 2004

I had a fitful sleep last night. A window was wide open, and the street noise came in like voices from another dimension. Or ghosts. The wind wafted through the screen and blew the curtain. The raindrops pinged the sill. I kept thinking it was a leak in my bathroom ceiling.

I've had a sporadic leak in my bathroom ceiling for months. I've called my building manager, Max, about it on several occasions, but he always tells me the same thing: "I can't get a hold of the guy who lives above you."

I've gone up there a few times myself. I've knocked on his door and rang his bell, but he never responds. I've left him a couple of notes asking him, "Please call either me or Max so we can get this problem fixed." But I never got a response.

When I'd see Max, he'd ask me if I ever spoke to the kid.

"No, but I left him a note. I don't know what else to do. You don't have his number?"

"I do," said Max. "But the guy's never home."

Finally, a couple of weeks ago, there was a handwritten note taped to my apartment door. It was from my upstairs neighbor. He apologized for the leak and said that it could probably be fixed with a little caulk around his tub. He said he'd do it himself right away. There'd been no leakage since, so I figured it was taken care of. But yesterday, I heard the familiar drip drip drip. I checked the bathroom, saw the water pouring in, and rushed upstairs to confront the dude. As soon as I rang his bell, I heard rustling. I rang it again.

"Uhh…" the voice behind the door said, "Can you come back in a few minutes?"

"Hey, man," I said. "It's Jamie from the apartment directly below you.  My ceiling is leaking again."

More rustling, and a couple of minutes later, he opened the door, barefoot, shirtless, and dripping wet. There was a small smudge of shaving cream on his chin.

"Dude," I said. "The leak. What's up?"

"Hmm, well, I was just taking a shower. I washed my shower curtain today, so I wasn't using it. It must've leaked through the floor."

Okay. So this kid was no genius.

"Did you ever do the caulking you said you were going to do?"

"Uh, no. I haven't gotten around to it. I just thought that maybe it only leaked that one time."

"It's been leaking for fucking months."

The kid invited me into his apartment, and I looked in his bathroom. There was water everywhere. I noticed his high-pressure massage shower head that had been spraying water all over the place like an elephant.

"Okay, listen," I said. "You're taking a shower. There's water on the floor. My ceiling is leaking. It's pretty obvious the cause and effect here, right?"

He looked at me with his slightly crossed, closely set eyes and nodded.

"I'm not trying to be an asshole about this. But my patience is wearing thin."

"Sorry," he said. "I'm kind of a slob."

That much was obvious. His entire apartment was a mess.

He continued, "I'm just here by myself and you know... it's like uh...”

"Yeah, I get it. You're living the bachelor life. You're not much on housekeeping. It's cool, I get it. But just call Max, will you? He'll send a guy, and it'll be taken care of in a day. You'll never have to see me again."

"Okay, I promise. But it won't be tomorrow. I have to go home to New Jersey for a little while."

"Is that where you grew up?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Me too. A fellow Jersey boy. Cool." We shook hands. "So help a brother out, would you? Get it taken care of as soon as you can."

"I will. I promise."

Why don't I believe him?

When I came back downstairs, an IM was waiting for me from a girl I know who also happens to be from New Jersey. I replied to her message explaining what I was dealing with.

"A Jersey boy," I told her. "He's dumb as a brick."

"Was he cute?"

I have no idea why she was asking me that question. It was irrelevant. But whatever. "No," I told her. "I mean, maybe. What do I know? Do you think Tony Danza is cute?"