>Picture it: New York City, 2009. A young girl (OK, not so young or a girl - a 33 year old) stands in her dining room, holding an unsigned letter from her co-op apartment's management company, eyes wide in disbelief, sputtering "I can't believe this!" over and over again. The paper explains that her share of the "work" done in her apartment in January is $500.
One might remember this "work:" over the holidays, the super knocked on her door. The occupants were out of town, but their cousin was keeping an eye on the rabbit and fort. Said cousin contacted owners of said apartment and explained that the super told her that there was a leak in the basement and that he wanted to hire a plumber to tear open her bathroom wall and possibly floor to locate and fix the leak. The not-so-young-girl agreed, and the work commenced. The leak was repaired, new pipes were installed, and everyone was happy.
However, when she got home, she discovered that there was a big fucking gap in her wall, as the super took it upon himself to re-tile and fucked it up. A battle then commenced over how this would be fixed. The management company acknowledged that it was their responsibility to put things back to their prior semi-shitty condition. More negotiations took place. No work was done.
So when the not-so-young-girl received a bill for work which not only was not her responsibility, but also fucked up her apartment, she blew a gasket.