I live in a rental and I’ve been having problems with the bathroom since I moved in.
Initially it was just an ineffective toilet that refuses to flush more than three squares of toilet paper. I’m not joking. I can stand there with my finger on the button until the water stops flowing and there will still be toilet paper left over. Now, I’m a woman not a man so I use toilet paper for number one and two and after a while the residual toilet paper builds up. In the end I have to chuck an extra bucket of water into the bowel to complete the flush.
Why don’t you report it, I hear you asking. Well, I have. Three times. And every time it is ignored. So I deal with it.
What I can’t deal with is the moody toilet light. It started to play games in July when it worked on and off again for about a week. Then it stopped and I was left with no light in the bathroom. That made it impossible to have guests. So I put up with it (made easier by spending three months out of town during the working week) until I could enlist the help of a tall friend. You see, I am very short and I still could not reach the down light even on a chair.
Que my tall friend who did some research and actually found out how to change down lights and then changed it for me. Hooray. The light worked for about 6 hours. Then I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and, surprise surprise, it wasn’t working. I was furious and emailed my realestate agent at 2am. She replied the next morning saying that the owner would send an electrician around soon (but ignoring the toilet issue). Apparently the electrician would contact me.
Unfortunately the light was working again the next morning. And for the next three weeks. Until last night. I turned on the switch and no luck. So I whipped out my phone and recorded me trying to turn the light on. Ha ha. Evidence. And true to form, a few hours later the little shit was working again. So I recorded it. Now I won’t feel like a complete idiot when the electrician turns the light and tries to tell me that is is working. When he eventually turns up, that is.
I may not know anything about fixing electrical faults, but that is not my job. I pay for someone to fix my problems and that is how the economy works. It’s sad that I have to find evidence of the electrical fault because I fear that I will be called a stupid woman and that my concern won’t be taken seriously. If I was a man then I know the situation would be different. Why does my concern mean less just because of my sex?