Supersensitivity

OK first and foremost, I'll say it again: There never was any little girl in my apartment. It was all part of a contest. So thanks for all of your concern, but please remember to read blogs from the bottom up.
In other news (man, I need to find a new segue phrase), Yesterday I finally got fed up with my building. The smoke alarm in the hall has been beeping since the fire last year (oh the irony). There has been a pile of wooden moldings in the 2nd floor hallway for almost 6 months. The light in the doorway is burned out. I know that at least one other resident wrote a letter to no avail, so I decided what this situation needed was a little Dan.

Dan: (On phone with Building Company) Hi. I'm a resident, and I wanted to talk to you about our building. I'm not trying to cause trouble, but the smoke alarm has been beeping for months, and there has been a pile of wooden moldings in the 2nd floor hall since the dawn of time.
Nice Building Co. Lady: ...
Dan: Hello?
Nice Lady: Um, I guess you didn't hear. Your super died on saturday. He's been hospitalized for 6 months.
Dan: Uh... (and herein lies the longest most excruciating pause in a telephone call of my entire life)... I guess that explains why he didn't take care of that, huh?
Nice Lady: Yes it does.
Dan: Okaaaay then, I'll, um, be sure to tell my fellow residents. Gottagothanksbye.

So I felt like the world's biggest asshole for a minute. And then I thought: 6 months?! They couldn't find someone to temp in that time? I was unemployed for a month and could have done it!

Epilogue: Upon telling Caroline this story, she made the Oh So New York Move of asking "Did he live in the building? Cause S (her Boyfriend) would so take the apartment. Call and ask if he did."
Yes, because I want to follow up bitching about a dead man with benefiting callously from his death.