This afternoon, when I went to go get my car out of the parking garage, it was in a pool of water about 3 inches deep. Apparently, a sprinkler had burst.
This happened once before, during the tropical storm at the beginning of September. Water flows down towards my parking spot and pools there -- and the drain is about fifteen feet away from where the puddle gets deepest. After the storm, it took about five days before the water had dissipated -- more from evaporation than drainage.
I went back upstairs to go tell the manager about the pool of water, but she immediately breezed right by me, pretending I wasn't there. When I looked back at her office door, she had put up a sign saying that she'd be back in 20 minutes.
I was pissed, and wanted to yell at her. Still, seeing as I had been trying to leave, I decided that I had better things to do than wait around for the woman. So I went back downstairs, rolled up the cuffs of my Rock and Republic jeans and waded through the puddle.
Did I mention I was wearing flip-flops? Ick. (I probably ought to be washing my feet. Again.)
Of course, when I got back an hour later, the puddle showed no signs of drainage, and the manager was gone for the day. And, in a cruel twist, she had put up a notice saying she was going to be out for the next two days.
I asked the concierge whether there was someone he could talk to, but he said he couldn't help with anything like that.
So now I guess the next step is to call the maintenance company directly, rather than going through the manager. And in the interim, I'll be backing into my parking spot, because the puddle is less deep on what is ordinarily the passenger side.