- Me: I want to talk to Greg about the noise.
- Greg's father/guardian/older male lover: Is it possible for you to move to the other side?
- Me: Someone else lives in the other room. So no, motherfucker. That is not a solution.
This thing is pretty damn nebulous, and not taken as seriously as I’d like.
Upstairs neighbor was playing music and having loud sex till about 3 am this morning. It is 7:30 and I already hear him walking around. What is this guy’s schedule?! Insanity is becoming the only feasible answer.
I hate my upstairs neighbor. The last few months have been better than before: he’s basically just had loud sex (with the window open, which only makes it worse) and played music at a decent volume. A few times I heard the music, asked him to shut his window, and he obliged.
A couple of weeks ago, though, was when I first heard the drums (they are not bongos as I’d initially suspected), and when I came back from my trip last week, he played them every single night. And to make matters worse, he only knows essentially one beat. Also contrary to the norm, his girl has been with him every night, though thankfully all I hear is her talking and nothing else, including Greg explaining the mechanics of playing the drums: “you want to hit it in the middle because the sound is different if you hit the edges.” Idiot.
Saturday night he had people over—it could’ve just been the girl—and started playing the stupid drums again at around 5:30, 6 am. I was about to yell out the window, when I heard a deep male voice say “put the drums away.” No window opened or closed. No one would’ve slept with the windows open, so now I wonder if it was the older man that lives with Greg; it didn’t really sound like him, but I can’t think of anyone else.
I just can’t fathom someone so disrespectfully playing loud music and drums at such horrid hours. I’m really curious about the reasons for this behavior. In conclusion, I’m starting to think Greg doesn’t have all of his marbles. But despite this recent development, I’m moving forward with my plan for revenge; it’s going to be a good one.
While cleaning my room, I decided to finally open a box from my last move that I’d ignored for the past 2 years. It was labeled “Shirts and books.” I found about 20 pieces of clothing, half of which I wore pretty frequently before I moved—I can’t believe I didn’t notice they were missing. So now instead of getting rid of shit, I have more things I need to find a place for.
“Oh my god, you scared me!”
- I’m neither invisible nor silent. And neither is the TV. It shouldn’t be a “surprise” to see me in the common area since it is, in fact, common.
“Are you parked behind me?”
- I’m always parked behind you. We don’t all work 6-hour days.
Finally, there’s no music. No bongos. No girl panting. No giant stomping around. I will be having an interesting little chat with Asshole Neighbor this afternoon. Or maybe in an hour. So he, too, experiences the disturbing feeling of being woken up.
I’ve been up since roughly 4:30 am, courtesy of my lovely neighbor. I heard a woman upstairs as well, so I knew I was going to be in for a loud couple of hours. But instead, this asshole starts playing these brand new bongos—brand new because I’ve never heard them before—really fucking loudly. And no matter how many times I tell him to please close his window, since that would solve 90% of the noise problem, he refuses to listen.
So after angrily yelling out my window for him to close his own, he proceeds to play the bongos even louder for the next hour. The cops have visited him for noise complaints three times, and the building manager has been called even more times. And yet this asshole still lives here, and still is loud as hell.
…and the bongos start again.
- Roommate: Are you going out?
- Me: What? Oh, no. I just...sometimes try on lipsticks before going to bed.
- Roommate's Male Friend: Me too! Wow, we have so much in common.