I have tossed this around in my head for awhile - is it worth posting stories of Wellington Ridge after I move out? I guess the answer I came up with was "of course." There were so many interesting times there that I just can't let them go without sharing!
This story comes from over two years ago when I lived in my apartment upstairs, by myself. I had been working three jobs and going to school and spent very little time in my apartment. One night, after working at Target until 11:00 pm I got home and settled into bed just after midnight. Living alone and what some may call "vulnerable" I did not sleep with clothes on. It just felt better to sleep with just me and the blankets.
The clock rolled in around 2:30 am and I awoke from what I thought was banging on my door. I was sleeping with a box fan on to wash out the sounds of snoring neighbors and loud party animals in the parking lot so I couldn't be so sure if it was a bang on the door. Then I heard it again. Curiosity was getting close to killing me - but I was naked. In the dark I fumbled around for a blanket and ran out to the peephole. Sure enough, Marshall (real name Chris) the maintenance guy was out there with his hands wiping through his hair and pacing in front of the door. I managed to squeak out just a minute and ran back to get some clothes on. I kindly (deep down pissed and tired) let him in. He "claimed" that the apartment directly below me had some flooding on the bathroom floor and said he believed it was coming from my bathroom.
Seriously? At 2:30 in the morning someone is going to put a call in that there is water on their bathroom floor? Well, to Marshall's favor, the suspicion I had of him being a raging drug addict started to be proven true. The guy started running around my kitchen and bathroom turning water faucets on and off and on and off and flushing the toilet. Then he turned the shower on and left it run. He said, "I will pound twice on the ceiling in the apartment below to signal you to turn the water off. I will be back after that."
Well, how on earth am I supposed to hear him pounding on the ceiling with the water going full force out of the shower? After about 20 minutes and him not showing back up I turned the water off. By now it is after 3 am on a weekday and I am getting pretty agitated. I give him ten more minutes and then get ready to go back to bed. Sure enough he comes back. Checks everything again and says, "I will be back at 8:00 am to tear out the closet and the tub."
That was a lot to digest at that hour in the morning. I started to panic about the stuff in my bathroom and closet and wonder if I need to start cleaning my stuff out. My brain was much too fuzzy and exhausted to actually do anything so I went to bed.
Three short hours later I get up and go to my day job. I pondered all day how my apartment was going to look after work. I imagined it being torn to pieces and my bathroom inoperable for weeks.
I get home just before 5:00 pm and wouldn't you know not a thing was touched. The closet wasn't opened and the bathroom was exactly the way I left it.
I never heard another thing about it after that.
It was not a dream. I swear.