So The Spouse calls the landlords' Man Friday for me yesterday. (Yay, Spouse!!) Man Friday tells The Spouse that he has a front door key . . . he'll get a copy made for us.
Now, when The Spouse broke his own key a few months ago, I stuck my head in every keysmith/locksmith kiosk I passed, and I saw NO blank keys like this hanging around waiting to be cut. But I said nothing and just waited. What do I know?
Sure enough, at the appointed hour, Man Friday appears at my door. He does not speak English, but, thankfully, Baboo's cello teacher happened to be here and graciously translated for me.
MF: "I'm very sorry. I have been to five keysmiths. This is an old style key and cannot be duplicated."
Me: "I know. We have to call the Dom-O-Fon people, and they will give us a new one. Here are their phone numbers."
MF: "No, they won't give us new keys. The building has not paid the Dom-O-Fon service fees. Your Mr. Neighbor is in charge of collecting everyone's fees."
Me: "Mr. Neighbor's WIFE showed me her shiny new metal key. She's the one who told me we have to call Dom-O-Fon."
He gets out his cellphone, calls Dom-O-Fon (he seemed to have their number programmed in his phone address book as he shunned my piece of paper with the numbers copied there from the sign on the front door).
MF (on phone): "How much? How late are you open? Oh. I'll be right over."
MF (to me): "How many do you want?"
MF: "Be right back."
Oh, and the back door key? Seems the government entity that manages the building (it is a three-letter acronym that is pronounced something like "Jack") handles that.
MF: "Jack has the keys now."
Me: "Jack? Jack who?"
Duh-oh! I get it. No one is supposed to have a key to the back door. Just as no one is supposed to have a key to the roof (except I do . . . shhhh). And, truthfully, it is better now because you no longer need a key to exit the building via the back door. Which is a lot safer. But you need a key to enter that way. Which is fine by me as I have never used that door.
That's one project sorted.
Next: the shower. We have one of those detachable shower heads. And the contraption that holds the head on the wall was compromised when we moved in over a year ago. Recently it all broke. Using my SuperGlue skills, I managed to get about another week out of it, but then it broke irreparably.
I hate holding the shower head/wand thing-y under my arm or between my knees while I try to apply shampoo to my head. You can never just set the thing down on the floor of the tub because it sprays water at some unexpected angle and results in floor mopping. And forget about turning it on and off. I can't be bothered.
So Man Friday apparently found a whole new set at the market yesterday and at some point will come along and replace ours.
My children are looking forward to going here this summer: they are counting the days and mapping their itinerary.
I am looking forward to a new and improved shower. I guess this, along with an eagerness to take naps, is the dividing line between childhood and adulthood.
Waiting... - *In October on Manezh Square, outside of the Kremlin* It's the final countdown until the Olympics... Here's a link to an article that was in the "Russia ...
3 years ago