I was sitting at the desk in the spare room, working on a project when I heard the dripping.
At first, I thought it was coming from outside, the result of snow melting near the open window. I don’t know what prompted me to look left, but I’m glad I did.
The closet wall was glistening. A cardboard box on the top shelf was soaked. And the piece of pressboard nailed to the ceiling was warped and loose on the right side.
I called Jeff in for a second opinion. He pried off the damp pressboard, peered into the tiny hole and confirmed my suspicion.
Our ceiling was leaking.
That was 8:30 p.m., on a Sunday night.
Three days, eight hours of work, and exactly zero dollars later, the dripping stopped.
And let me tell you: I have never been so happy to be a renter.