I looked up and saw my upstairs neighbor, Trevor, leaning over his balcony railing, looking down at the damage with an expression that somehow managed to be more annoyed than apologetic.
“Sorry, man,” he called down, not sounding sorry at all. “It just slipped.”
“Yeah, right,” I thought.
A dining chair doesn’t “slip” off a fourth-floor balcony on its own, but I didn’t have the energy to argue that point standing outside in the cold.
I asked him directly if he’d cover the repair.
He said he’d “think about it,” which I already understood meant no.
I called my insurance, filed a claim, and figured I’d deal with the rest through proper channels the next morning.
Continue on the next page:
