ConEd woes

It's Friday and I still have no gas. Yesterday during lunch I once again ran uptown to my apartment, this time to let the Super in. She thought ConEd was coming to turn on the gas but it turns out they had come only to inspect the line. The ConEd guy was not happy that my microwave is sitting directly on top of my stove burners. I don't like it either, Mr. ConEd man. Seriously, why do these people keep Con in their name? It's just asking for hell.

So no gas yet. Super called ConEd today and found out the plumber needs to give ConEd an affidavit - an affidavit? "I, the plumber, do solemly swear that the gas line is ok?" Otherwise ConEd will sic Jack McCoy on their ass.

I also took the opportunity to play 10 dumb questions with my Super. I mean, if she thinks I'm dumb may as well ask the dumb questions. So I asked where my trash key was (she had to get a copy made - hello, no preparation. Honestly, wtf?); where my signed copy of the lease was and where I needed to send my rent checks too. Not that I'm eager to pay rent. I also confirmed that the leasing agent was correct in telling me that since I lived in the apartment for only a half-month in August but paid a whole first month's rent before moving in, I only owed a half-month's rent for September. The Super confirmed. Good. Backing up, yes I need a trash key. The trash lives in a metal enclosure outside of my building. And we recycle, which makes me happy.

My sister gave me a nice surprise - she signed me up for a gift subscription to Netflix since I have no TV. I picked my first 6 movies and watched the first, "Mission Impossible 3," earlier this week. It was pretty good. The first one is still my favorite. My parents hate that Jim Phelps turned bad in that one.

I'm headed up to Connecticut this week for a belated going away party. I'm also taking Hunk (my SUV) to another dealer to try to sell him. Wish me luck.