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Yesterday, when I realized that I could not close my freezer door through the inches of accumulated ice, I decided it was time to defrost it. With a cleaver. It was sort of satisfying hacking the blocks of ice off the sides and I found some buried porkchops, which is the best sort of surprise. I was getting to the end, cutting my way through the minor glacier on the back wall when I heard an auspicious PSSSSSS from inside. I punctured my freezer and it was out-gassing lots of nasty stuff (it’s an old one). I freaked out and unplugged it–was I going to have to pay for a new fridge? I called my landlord with some trepidation, but I had photographic evidence that the freezer was intolerably frosty and that any sane person would taken a cleaver to it. (that one above was supposed to be my victory shot, when I was almost done) I told her what happened and she apologized and said she’d send a new one over on Tuesday. I never even got to my clever cleaver argument. So I guess the moral of the story is…if you want something fixed or replaced, just hit it with a cleaver until your super agrees to replace it. Tomorrow I’m doing my sink and the toilet.

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