My friends hijacked me and made me go to the mall with them. I haven't seen Andy and Sarah in...I think perhaps almost a year, but I know that's wrong. Has to be.
Anyway, it doesn't matter. We all walked around Bangor, we tried to get lunch at the Coffee Pot (it was closed, fool that I am, I forgot it's closed weekends), and they left a few hours ago.
My landlord told me that, since the front door is open sometimes, he was going to charge me $5 every time he saw it that way. I told him that was unacceptable, took a screwdriver, and modified the lock on the door until it was unopenable by normal means. (He claimed that the downstairs tenant picked up his mail at the post office and doesn't use the front door.)
No less than an hour later, one of the downstairs neighbors is whanging away with a hammer, trying to pry the door open. It's called a screwdriver; what kind of monkey doesn't know how to use one?
Anyway, I phoned back to the landlord, told him that at least one of the downstairs tenants used the door, and informed him that the *next* time it was open, he knew what he could do.
(Of course, I've also resolved to fix the toilet by myself if it starts leaking again. I figure a large gob of Seal-All will make the plumber's life unpleasant but save me from having to deal with the water bill again.)
It was very, very nice to pick up my mail by walking out the front door, though. No more, it would seem.
