Thinking nothing of it, I left for work this morning with sweaters all over my bedroom floor, a bra and boyshorts on my dresser, and my bed totally unmade. I didn't move my bathroom floor mats, put away the kleenex box and bottle of lotion, soap and water mug. The apartment complex would notify me when they would finally be over to repaint the bathroom ceiling.
***
I could smell it when I walked in the door. The painters had been over. It was about time. They were supposed to come on October 1st. No show. They were then supposed to come Monday. Again, nothing. The apartment complex said they would call. Guess not.
My bathroom is a disaster. There are little ceiling paint chips everywhere. The shower bottom is covered; luckily it looks like my shower radio/cd player is ok. The bathroom floor itself is covered with these little specs, which feel like you're walking on glass chips. At least they tossed the bathmats into my bedroom. My sink and mirror, speckled. And my toilet seat has nasty wet footprints all over it.
I peer into my bedroom. Two rolls of tape, sitting on my bed, way on the other side of the room. What the hell were they doing in my bedroom?
I go into the kitchen to get the floor vac. They have put the big paint chips from my bathroom ceiling into a brown grocery bag that happened to be sitting out -- mine, not theirs -- and would ultimately NOT be used for garbage. At least they could have taken it to the dumpster. They used the Swiffer, as it was not in its original place.
I walk over to the office to return the two rolls of tape in my bedroom. They were expecting me, as I called to tell them about the mess in my bathroom and the left tape rolls. They tell me apparently they did some work in my bedroom too. And that they apologize for the mess. They make a joke or two, ask about my job and interviews, and tell me they'll get to the bottom of this mess.
I walk back to my apartment and get to cleaning my bathroom. I realize I should check my bedroom to see what they did. It's hard to tell if they did anything, but they certainly moved the hats, tie, and scarves I had hanging on the wall. Back to the bathroom, I clean it up, put everything back in place.
Missing: one kleenex box. I call the office again. As I am talking to them about the mess and the bedroom which is hard to tell if they actually did anything, I mention the kleenex box. I walk back into the bathroom while on the phone, I decide to check in the cabinet under my sink. Bingo. One kleenex box. Which means... they were under my sink for no good reason. They have now had a good ol' look at all my "feminine products". Awesome. NOT OK. There was no reason to go under my sink -- my kleenex box would have been just fine where you piled the soap, water mug, and lotion. Then I get nervous -- if they went under my sink, what else did they go through? And if they were in my bedroom, did they go through my nightstand? (No, there is no vibrator, but there are condoms -- a girl has to be prepared!) Did they put on the bra that was on my dresser, or worse yet, go through my jewelry boxes? (Note: I checked my jewelry boxes. Everything is there... but damn they could have made off well with everything Gram-O has given me over the years.)
Is this ok? Absolutely not. Will I write a nasty letter to the bitch-ass company that left my bathroom a disaster? Absolutely.
Bitches.
... and as it turns out, we ended up printing more photos of the flamin' popcorn machine than we did of hockey fans!