The ceiling over our shower is leaking when the guys upstairs take a shower. When we first moved into the place, the ceiling in our bedroom was leaking whenever the (old) guy upstairs would take a bath at 1 am. This was a problem, because it's our bedroom and we keep things in the bedroom that we don't want to get wet. The shower's a little different because, hey, things are meant to get wet in there. The landlord has been so generally lousy that I was almost tempted to just let it leak. Except that one of the Jo(h)ns* upstairs takes showers every morning as the same time as I do. Which means that I get dripped on in my shower from his shower. Gross. (Or, Free Extra Shower Water -- it's all perspective, I suppose.)
So when the guy came out last year to fix the leak in the bedroom, he ripped a big hole in the ceiling, fixed what he thought was the leak, but left the hole so we could monitor it for a few days. It was a good thing he did, because he hadn't patched the whole leak or something and it continued to leak (it did all eventually get fixed).
When the (different) dude came this weekend to work on the bathroom leak, he evidently did not share the same trouble-shooting philosophy because he tore down the sagging ceiling, caulked something (or nothing**), and then put up new sheetrock and mudded and taped it. It's too bad, then, that he didn't actually fix the leak and that water is now coming out from the edges of his sheetrock patch. (In fact, it kind of made the problem worse, because instead of leaking from a single point more-or-less over the center of the shower, it's now leaking from all the way around the edges of the patched part.) R-tard.
So now the landlord has to arrange for someone else to come out at some time when both we and a Jo(h)n are home. I was on the phone with him yesterday at around 3 in the afternoon and he asked, "Are you home now?" "No," I told him, "I have a job. To, you know, pay the rent." A-hole.
* Our new upstairs neighbors are John and Jon.
** It's hard to know just what he did because dude spoke about six words to us the whole day. He made a couple of trips to bring in his stuff (one of which took 40 minutes -- no joke) and then closed the bathroom door. To protect us from the dust and noise or play dress up with Erica's makeup? WE DON'T KNOW! He didn't even say, "I'm done," he just... left. We sort of hovered for a half an hour before we started putting stuff back in the bathroom, in case he was coming back.