I live in a shitty, crappy, New York City apartment that's falling down around me, and for which I pay way too much. The building was built in the late 1800s, and has barely been modified since 1950. They redid the elevator over the summer, and the elevator guys said the last time was in the 1940s.
So. There was mold in my bathroom (ceiling and walls) and cracks in my bedroom walls and crackling ceiling form a leak, and in my kids' room. And the landlord is so cheap that he won't pay for anyone else to do any work except for the super (who has another full-time job) and the super's nephew and a poorly-paid recent immigrant laborer. (I am not disparaging the laborer at all--he's a lovely person and does faaaar better work than the previous guy they had in this position, but it's telling that the landlord hires the cheapest labor he can find.) For the entire building. And all of the apartments need serious repair.
But two days ago, they showed up to replaster my bathroom and bedroom. And they spent two days here doing that, and then painting. And they completley dismantled everything. And left it dismantled. And dirty. And dusty. And it's going to take me four hours to put everything back together. After I finish all the other stuff I have to do today.
Grrrrr. Just when I'd gotten over the horror of having my child be in the middle of a junkie fistfight in the doctor's waiting room, it's this.
I have to get out of New York City. It's not good for any of us.