On Monday Morning, the light in my bathroom burnt out. I live in a vintage apartment, and in the bathroom the light fixture is on the ceiling, which is approximately 12 feet high. So, unless I want to go out and buy a ladder, there’s really no way I can change the light bulb myself.
So… after two days of showering in the dark, I called the on-site building supervisor. This is how that conversation went:
Me: Hi, is this Oz?
Oz (presumably): Could be.
Me: Um... hi... well, my name is Lou and I live in the apartment at 2 North. The light in my bathroom is burnt out and I was wondering if you could change it for me.
Oz: Don’t you have a boyfriend to do that for you?
Me: Well no, I don’t have a boyfriend and I would do it myself, but there’s no way I can reach the ceiling. Is this something you would usually do?
Oz: Well, maybe you should find yourself a boyfriend.
Me: Yeah… well, um... I guess I’m working on that. Can you help me?
Oz: [Laughing]. Why don’t you call me when you get home this afternoon?
Me: OK, I won’t be home until between 5:30 and 6:30 though.
Oz: [Pauses]. Eh, I guess that’s fine; just give me a call. And you should find a boyfriend that's tall.
Me: Uh. Sure... thanks.