The Great Flood of 3 AM

The Great Flood of 3 AM

Let me tell you, when you’re a building manager, a good night’s sleep is a luxury. So, when my phone rang at 3 AM, I knew it wasn’t someone calling to wish me sweet dreams.

“Lily! HELP! There’s water coming from my ceiling!” The voice from Unit 105 was pure panic.

I jumped out of bed, threw on the first clothes I could find, and sprinted to 105. The moment the door swung open—boom!—indoor rainstorm. Water cascaded from the ceiling, soaking everything in sight. I took a deep breath and told the tenant, “Stay calm. I’ll find the source.” (Meanwhile, I was anything but calm.)

I bolted up to 205. After some serious banging, I unlocked the door, shouting, “Building manager! Water leak! Coming in!”

Same story—waterfall from the ceiling, a very startled tenant stepping out of the bedroom straight into a puddle. Eyes wide, mouth open, still processing life at 3:10 AM.

Up to 305. Bang. Unlock. Yell. No answer. No surprise—it’s 3:10 AM! I walked in, déjà vu. More water, more confused tenants.

At this point, my legs decided they weren’t young enough for stair duty, so I hijacked the elevator, set it to service mode, and zoomed up to 405.

The door swung open, and sure enough—another waterfall. The tenant, wrapped in a soaking-wet bathrobe, stood frozen in the middle of the room, holding a plunger like a weapon. "I tried to stop it!" they blurted out. "Appreciate the effort," I sighed, "but I need to keep going before we all need life vests."

Same routine—knock, unlock, yell. 505 was no different—water raining from the ceiling, another tenant waking up in shock. The poor guy was mid-dream one second and ankle-deep in a mini swimming pool the next. "What the—?!" he yelled, flailing for balance. I gave a quick, "Water leak! Sorry!" before dashing up another floor. No time to chat, buddy—the flood waits for no one!

Finally, I reach 605. I brace myself, open the door, and—wait. Dry ceiling. YES! We’ve hit the source.

Two roommates lived there. One was still asleep in the bedroom, the other had crashed on an air mattress in the living room. My yelling and the sound of Niagara Falls in their apartment woke them both. The air mattress guy—clearly still recovering from a night of questionable decisions—was sitting with his feet in water, looking around in slow motion, just whispering, “Wow.”

In the bathroom, I found the culprit: a rogue toilet tank supply line, whipping around like an angry snake, spraying water everywhere. I wrestled it down, got absolutely drenched, and after what felt like an Olympic event, managed to shut it off. Victory!

I stepped out, dripping, to find Air Mattress Guy still in the same position, still whispering, “Wow.” The other guy finally emerged, looking dazed. I gave them instructions about using the toilet manually until repairs could be done, but I doubt they processed a single word.

Now for cleanup. I called our steam cleaning contractor. Unsurprisingly, I woke him up, but he agreed to come help. Meanwhile, I grabbed our shop vac and returned to 605.

Both guys were still there. Still sitting. Still in the water.

I started vacuuming. Empty. Vacuum. Empty. It felt like I was trying to dry the ocean with a sponge.

Then—blessing from above—contractor arrives at 4:15 AM, fresh as a daisy, with a big Tim Hortons coffee in hand. “Bet you need this,” he grinned. (He wasn’t wrong.)

His team worked unit by unit, while I made my rounds, this time knocking (not banging) to inform tenants of the cleanup. By 7 AM, the crisis was contained.

I finally went home, took the most glorious shower of my life, changed into dry clothes, and returned to my office. Sipping my (now cold) coffee, I started writing up repair work orders while chuckling at the memory of all the half-asleep, soaking-wet tenants I encountered that night.

As I finished the last work order, I leaned back, stretched, and thought—maybe it’s time to invest in a snorkel and flippers. Just another night in the never-boring world of property management!