So I went back to work and tried to call the number they gave me for the super. It's an older woman's voice on the answering machine. Odd. I leave a message anyway, and time passes. Nothing. I call again and again. Then I call the management company, worried they will be closed before I sort this out. The woman assures me if I play with the lock, it will work. I tell her I tried it in all the doors. She tells me to try the super again. More time passes. I call the management company. They give me a different number for the super, where I leave a message (sounds like an auto-body shop). Then I call the woman from the management company at her other office (in Crown Heights, which is not close to here), and she tells me she will call the super at a seperate number. She calls me back and the super is home. Great, by now it is time for me to leave work (which is okay, because if I had left during the day, I would have to work later tonight to make up the time). She gives me her cell phone (which she says she never does) number to call if anything goes wrong. I drive out to the building, meet with the super and he gives me the key. He says he gave her two keys and she gave my door key to the other tenant moving in today. He seems like a cool guy (and hey, he speaks English!) and so the day is saved. He also tells me the number they gave me for him (the first one) is his super secret number no one's supposed to have. The management company appears to be batting 1.000 (that's one thousand, shut up).
This week has provided nothing but stress. Hopefully next week will provide a different, more exhilarating type of stress. And hooray, I now have a parking space and laundry down the hall (from the new apartment, not here). If I need to do laundry as I'm packing tonight, I can run out there and throw my undies in the machine so I have enough clothes to wear next week, hooray.