My strangest attempt at French workmanship yet.
This morning I had a 9:30 appointment with a long-awaited plumber. We've had sort of ridiculous amounts of water dripping from our sink for upwards of four months now. Our landlady has variously claimed that the linoleum peels up because we spill water when we do dishes, that the wooden baseboard under the bar rotted completely because we spilled a bottle of water under it, and that the brown puddle that oozed out from under said bar with said rotting wood was simply spilled alcohol. Her solution to our problem is to have the counters and sink replaced, and I'm not sure if that will help, but at least it's something. So I'm awaiting the plumber at 9:30. Imagine my surprise when the door bell went off at 8 a.m., and my brain struggled out of its dream bliss to make my body get out of bed and answer the door. The fixit dude (who, as far as I can tell, is either in no way qualified to be a plumber or entirely trained to tell our landlady exactly what she wants to hear, i...