Nothing.
So I down a bunch of paper towels to mark the trail (and sop up any more leaks) and put in a work order. I come home to no paper towels, meaning that someone had come by to check up on what was up...but there was no note on the door, no nothing. Usually they go ahead and close the work order after they've cleaned up a mess or checked on something for you, but mine was still open. Okay, they must have just forgot.
Fast forward to today, when at about noon I get the email saying the work order was closed with no other details. "Ah, there we go. Finally!"
I think no more about it as I walk home in the downpour. I dig my keys out of my bag, open the door, and squelch out of my shoes so I don't make too big of a mess. The light switch is a bit far from the door, so I open the door as wide as I can and walk my drenched self across the kitchen floor (did I bring a jacket or rainboots? Ha. Funny question. No, I didn't).
As I make it to the carpet, I notice to my right that the floor is really dirty. As in, really dirty. I clean my kitchen floor every night since it's the kind of sickly baby blue that attracts dirtiness like a magnet. And it was clean this morning, I swear!
I frown and take one more step, and feel myself step on something sharp. I lift up my foot and see a half inch chunk of glass on the carpet.
"What in the world is going on! This is ridiculous. Who was in my room??"
I finally turn around, and things make sense. I have a brand new fridge. Which is great!
But there was also glass all over the floor...so I took care of that before finally opening the fridge. I'm not even sure what broke, but I did email the house manager to find out.
Anyway, when I opened up the fridge, I burst out laughing, not even kidding. There are lemons in the cheese drawer, eggs near the vegetables, ketchup not on the fridge door, it kind of looked hilarious. I know, first world problem, I have to reorganize my fridge now that I have a new one.
Even more curious was the distinct presence of many things that are not supposed to be in the fridge. Frozen hashbrowns. A defrosted pile of mushy bananas (seriously? It's a brand new fridge and I already have to clean it?). Several bags of frozen fruit from strawberry picking and farmer's market rhubarb. My half-eaten loaves of bread that I keep frozen for my occasional toast craving. Do you know what frozen then defrosted bread looks like? Smushed, moist, and very unappetizing. It went straight into the bin.
So, here's where the hotdish comes in. You can't refreeze hashbrowns, and these are already fairly old (about a year? I don't eat them often). And the one dish I use them for is confirmation potatoes, a wonderfully artery-clogging dish composed of hashbrowns, sour cream, cheddar cheese, cream of chicken soup, and butter-soaked cornflakes on top.
Let's put it this way: it's delicious.
While the potatoes were cooking (and more than one girl wandered past my door saying "Oh my god it smells so good!") --I called my mom to tell her the story of my night. My brother answered, I passed along the hilarity of the evening. His reaction? "I feel sorry for whomever had to take all of your food out of your fridge, what a disaster."
...he's right. What a disaster, ha.
1 comment:
While reading your posts my thoughts were rapidly fluctuating between "Oh, no!" and "Oh, good!". After the broken glass, etc. thank goodness that you ended with a new ref. and a tasty meal.
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