You may sleep in my bathtub

You need to know the following three facts before diving into my story: (1) 42 years ago, I moved into my building. In 1977,it had a live- in super, 2 handymen 6 porters and round the clock doormen. The building was well maintained and I never had to call a plumber, an electrician or any outside contractor to fix anything. The super, handymen and porters were delighted to remedy any apartment problem I had, provided I paid them generously. For small jobs, they received tips-$10-25 for changing a lightbulb, unstuffing a toilet or changing a washer in a faucet. I must have tipped more generously than many, because within seconds of even thinking I needed something fixed, someone was at my door with tools and a ladder. For larger jobs, they would tell me what their fee would be. They knew I was incapable of fixing anything myself and I was, therefore, at their mercy. They would set fees that enabled them to send their children to Dalton, buy second homes and vacation in Tahiti. I paid gratefully. Although I was fully capable of opening the door to the building and carrying my packages inside, the doormen raced to the door to relieve me of my shopping bags. They did this without any extra remuneration from me. In 70's and early 80's this was probably less because of their generosity of spirit and more because several had lucrative businesses selling weed . Later, it was perhaps because of their job title..ie"doorman." Two years ago, I received what appeared to be an innocuous letter from the managing agent. It said the super was no longer to be called "The Super." The super would henceforth (yes, it really said "henceforth")be called the "Resident Manager." The handymen would be "Assistant Resident Managers." The porters would be "building assistants." The doormen would be "Lobby Attendants." I did not understand that the new fancy titles meant no one who worked in the building would ever again fix anything for me. I did not understand that the "Resident Manager" did not mean the person, formerly known as "The Super" was living in the building. He was not. It meant he was managing the residents of the building. I did not grasp the the "Assistant Resident Managers'" and "Building Assistants'" sole job was to take care of the boiler and garbage. They were not permitted to fix anything in an apartment and were told they would be brought up on disciplinary charges if they did. The building residents were told that it is absolutely not the "Lobby Attendant's(formerly known as "doorman" to open the door and it was unreasonable to expect them to. (2)Three years I renovated my apartment. It did not go well. For what it cost, we could have universal health care.The only positive that arose from it was that my blogs detailing the horrors of the renovation deterred a number of my readers from renovating, thus saving them untold misery and money. That said, when the renovations were completed, I made peace with them. True, they didn't turn out as I had hoped. I had such dim lighting, that I tripped over my cat nightly. My frameless shower doors leaked, flooding the bathroom daily.Not realizing the shower doors were leaking, I thought the cat was peeing on the floor. I brought him to vet and it cost me $500 to find out my cat was healthy but my shower doors were not. The shelves in the closet falloff their brackets every time a porter vacuumed the hallway. But I thought everything else was ok, if not perfect. (3)The summer of 2018 was unusually hot and humid. The summer of 2019 was almost as bad. My Story: In early September, 2018, I invited 4 women to dinner on my terrace on a Saturday night. At about 11 o'clock, after we all agreed it had been a delightful evening and we should do it again, D went to the bathroom. "I'm stuck. I can't open the door," she shouted. "Did you lock it," I asked. "Yes." "Jiggle it," I said. "It won't open," she said. I told her I'd get help. I went to the lobby. The Resident Manager was, needless to say, not in residence.I dragooned a young "building assistant" who pushed on the door, while D. pulled. Nothing. I reassured D that she wouldn't have to spend the night in my bathtub, that I would call a locksmith, if necessary. D , who was a friend of a friend and who I had met only twice before, protested that would cost too much money. I thought, given her situation, locked in my bathroom, that was an extremely generous comment. I went to find a neighbor who might help. Fortuitously, Jonathan was home. I explained the problem and he said he'd be there momentarily with his tools. A few minutes later, Jonathan came with a tool box better stocked than my assistant resident manager's. Speaking to D through the door, he explained that he would try to remove the lock and handle. He removed most of the handle, but still couldn't open the door. That was the bad news. The good news is, if you have to be stuck in a bathroom, mine is a lovely one to be stuck in, not because of the decor, but because it is not claustrophobic; there is a high small window over the bathtub which opens onto the terrace. I and the remaining guests were talking to D through the window. Having no success with the handle, Jonathan asked if D would consider going out the window. She loved the idea and was small enough to fit through, but not tall enough to reach it. I passed my ikea step stool through the window. She stepped on it, put her arms around Jonathan's neck and he pulled her through. Debra was saved. Jonathan was our hero. But my bathroom door was stuck shut. The next morning, I found my Assistant Resident Manager and a building assistant. They deigned(for$20 each) to come up. The Assistant Resident Manager, Frank, assessed the situation. The door had swelled; the problem was not the lock. Frank, is 6'6" and built like a linebacker. He sent Alex, the building assistant, head first through the bathroom window to open the bathroom door using a screwdriver. Door opened. Immediate problem solved. I asked Frank what needed to be done. He said the door needed to be taken off, shaved from the hinge side and rehung. I asked him if he could do it. He explained, that although he would love to do it on his lunch hour and get paid for it, he'd lose his job if he did it. He said he put 4 daughters through college doing this sort of thing in my building, but he was no longer permitted to do it. I asked a "building assistant," Kamal,for whom I had done free legal work to do it, but he too was terrified. Kamal asked me if the doors were new and if the contractor who did the renovation had installed them. When I told him, "yes," he suggested I call the contractor. He opined that the contractor should have anticipated that there doors would swell in the hot, humid weather and left more slack between the doorframe and the door. I took his advice. The contractor came, said he'd take care of it, to call to set up a time and then failed to respond to the 20 messages I left on his cell. The cold weather came. I ignored the problem. The summer arrived and, not having fixed the door, I put up a sign on the bathroom door: DO NOT CLOSE THE DOOR COMPLETELY OR YOU MAY END UP SPENDING THE NIGHT IN MY BATHTUB. As you may have already guessed, most people do not read the sign on a bathroom door. I tried to head off any guest who looked bathroom bound and warn them not to close the door completely, but I was busily chatting and didn't see J heading toward the bathroom. Not seeing the sign, she not unreasonably closed the door. Bathroom fiasco redux. This time, though, I knew the solution. Jane, who was slim and petite, could be pulled through the window. I found Mark, a building assistant, and told him he needed to pull a guest out the bathroom window. Unaware of the terrace his response was, "I ain't pullin' nobody out a window." I explained further and he did, in fact rescue the damsel in distress. J was as amazingly gracious as D. She said it was her fault(which it most definitely was not)and shut the light in the bathroom so that she wouldn't use up my bulb. Next morning: Alex and Frank redux I am sure you are dying to know the current condition of the door. Let's just say, it's winter again. Many stories have a moral, but mine has several: -There is no such thing as an innocuous letter from a managing agent. -Don't use my contractor. -Make sure all your guests can fit through your bathroom window.