Mold and body water: breakfast of champions

As I’m writing on this chilly Saturday morning I can hear my landlord Dave through the vents, swearing as he works on the plumbing of my old bungalow apartment. This place can only be positively described as having “character.”

This is also the second time I’ve seen Dave since I moved into my apartment in December.

It’s funny, seeing him in sweats hitting pipes with wrenches when the only other time I’ve seen him he was wearing a fancy green striped button-down and khakis, driving a very expensive looking pick-up truck.

Why am I telling you this? Because what it took to get Dave out here today was a very obnoxious process. It all started in late January when I noticed a spot developing on my kitchen ceiling.

The day I noticed it I called one of my landlords. I was told that the coming Saturday somebody would fix it.

Well that was in the last week of January, and as of writing this the day is March 26.

What started as a small spot exploded into a swirling mess of yellow, brown and body-wash blue from the shower directly above my kitchen. As time went on the ceiling board warped and slowly crumbled into my breakfast cereal, which I’ve been assured isn’t as life threatening as you would think and makes a delicious addition to otherwise bland Kroger-brand Special K.

Dozens of calls from me did nothing. I’m just a college student who has no observable rights. Landlords in Indiana understand that they have complete control over their tenants. In Indiana, tenants cannot pay their rent into escrow. Normally the only way to exert any pressure on a landlord is to move out.

Fortunately for me, Steve Volan, sixth district city councilman, took a personal interest. Within 24 hours of a phone call from Steve, my landlord showed up with a bag of tools and a forced smile on his face.

I know that the only reason he even showed up today was to mitigate the risk of getting into trouble with the city. Landlords like Dave coast by on our rent money and don’t give a damn about us. The problem at hand is being addressed, but it is still not solved. I still have a fist-sized hole in my kitchen ceiling.

Listen: I don’t mean to be a hassle. People who know me in real life know I’m low-key bordering on pushover. But that’s why I write, because on paper I can be a huge asshole, and this asshole is getting a new kitchen ceiling.

—nicjacob@indiana.edu