Our place is falling apart. Two days after getting back to town, our bed broke again (and no, we weren’t re-enacting some scene on Nip/Tuck). Add that to our growing list of broken items: drawers, bookshelf, shoe cabinet. And we don’t even have kids, so all this damage is from light, daily use: just goes to show you how cheap our furniture is. So fine, had the maintenance guy come Tuesday to fix the beam. He had already come a few weeks prior to repair a broken beam then. That time, while nailing together the broken segments of wood, he damaged our floor (he just hammered the wood directly on top of the floor, without using any padding). This time, for the second broken beam, he replaced it with an entirely new one, but it wasn’t made of pressurized wood. John made a sketical face, but Mr. Zhang insisted the beam was adequate. Well, Wednesday morning when I sat at the end of the bed to put on my socks, there was a loud cracking noise. I still didn’t believe the beam would actually break, so John sat on his side to prove his point. CRACK, BOOM! Point taken.

Mr. Zhang came back to assess the damage. He suggested a new bed, so I text messaged the landlord. While waiting for a response, Mr. Zhang went ahead to repair the broken bookcase hinges. First of all, the guy never brings his tool kit. He had like one screwdriver on him. Borrowed my hammer and then needed to borrow my pocketknife. Then, the replacement hinges he had bought didn’t fit into the wood panel, so rather than going to get smaller hinges, he used my knife to cut out a bigger space for the hinge. I left the room for a second and next thing I know, he’s sliced his finger. The finger was in tact, but it was a deep cut and blood was spewing everywhere. The bleeding would not stop. Wads of paper towels drenched in blood. We got out our first aid kit but what to do? No idea. John couldn’t even stay in the room; the blood was too much for him. I put on some antiseptic and wrapped/bandaged his finger in gauge. I told him to go to the hospital. Get it checked out because it was a really deep cut. He refused. I suggested calling his department to report the injury. Refused. He then left. I was so disturbed and angry. I mean, this is the second time someone has come to fix stuff at the apartment and gotten seriously injured. If the shit in my apartment were more durable, none of this would have happened. I mean, you can’t just get by doing dangerous work with half-ass equipment and tools, you know? There is no worker safety. That’s why China leads the world in work-related deaths. That’s why every few weeks, you hear news about another goddamn explosion in the coal mines. Jesus Christ. And that’s just reported incidents. What about unreported events?

So yesterday evening, I called the landlord over. I just want a new bed. And I want new drawers. I want everything replaced with new stuff. I don’t want stuff repaired. He rejects my request and tells me he’ll replace the wooden beams with steel ones. He’ll superglue the drawers. I tell him that Mr. Zhang hurt himself badly while repairing this crap furniture. He tells me he’ll go check on Mr. Zhang. Ten minutes later, they both come back. Mr. Zhang just has a bandage on the finger. He didn’t go to a doctor. Just bought oral meds and put a bandaid on it. And the landlord has commissioned Mr. Zhang to handle the bed repair and drawer repair. What the fuck? I mean, give the guy a day or two to recover. He nearly sliced off his finger! I protested, but Mr. Zhang insisted he was fine. What can you do? Grown men don’t want to take health and safety seriously. They drive me nuts.