Some time ago I had a dripping shower. As part of the Quiana Improvement Program (QIP) I am trying to reduce my environmental footprint, so I called right away to have it taken care of. Immediately, the plumber was dispatched to my apartment and after some riggamaroll I had a working shower. I also had a giant hole in the shower wall, handily covered in black garbage-bags and duct-tape ala Darth Vader. Due my ridiculously low blood pressure, I occasionally get woozy in the shower and I was very nervous about the giant hole et al. Furthermore, as I have somewhat frequent houseguests, I wasn’t thrilled that my shower had adopted the fetish look. After two months of weekly nagging (including several assurances that it would be completed on x date and a period of three weeks of time when I wasn’t staying in the apartment) my shower wall was finally patched.
It took me over an hour to get my bathroom back in order and my shower properly cleaned. I was now doubly sweaty having returned from walking the lake then furiously scrubbing. I stripped and turned the faucet on. As it reached optimal temperature I pulled the button that turns on the shower and the entire metal spout flew with great force to the opposing side of my shower and crashed into the wall. For a split second I stood there nude and confused as water sprayed willy-nilly.
Rapture. Even though it was fixed right away, I am just waiting for the third shoe to drop.