When I was living on Hengshan Road in Shanghai, my apartment building had a repair guy. He lived in the dumpster room, which was a nondescript concrete structure that adjoined the building. By and large, you didn’t notice him, and I think that suited him fine. There was also a slovenly middle-aged dude who lived in the building and always seemed to show up and collect a small amount of money whenever anything happened, such as a tenant moving in. You might call him the building manager, except he didn’t really manage anything. He was more of an agent or middleman.
There was, for a long while, a broken toilet that sat next to the elevator on my floor. Nobody seemed to mind this. I don’t remember if it was ever removed. When I first moved in to the building, the sink didn’t work and there was a leak from the ceiling above the shower. We got the sink fixed somehow, but the leak persisted. It turned out there was a crazy old guy living directly upstairs (he was a government official who had been injured in a car accident and literally went crazy) and there was something wrong with his pipes and that was the source of the leak.
Together with my landlord (a cretin), the repair guy and the “building manager,” we visited the crazy old guy upstairs and identified the problem, which promptly failed to be solved. There was a big argument between the three parties who were supposed to be helping me fix the leak and somehow they just couldn’t reach an agreement about how or whether to fix it.
Finally, after a long and exhausting struggle, I figured out that the problem was that the repair guy wanted a small sum of money, like 40 yuan (about $6), and either the landlord or the “building manager,” or both, refused to pay him. So I shrugged and paid the man. And you know what? He fixed the leak. He fixed it but good.