Those of you who have been reading this blog a long while will know, I'm a girl who tends to migrate to one of 'the' postcodes when I make like Mary Poppins and move apartment and/or city. I equally tend to look for old buildings with high ceilings, wooden flooring and lots of light - a check list that more often than not sees me somewhere that can only be described as 'having character' and yet, despite this, within a few hours I always manage to transform any space into home. A safe haven.
As with any list of demands however there is almost always a trade-off, and like many of 20/30-something population, this trade is often the unknown quantity that are 'the neighbours'.
You see, unlike housing developments, over the years I have learnt that unless you are living in a block of students where it is practically considered rude if you don't gatecrash parties, get on first name terms and more often than not trade in household items ('Do you have any laundry detergent I could have? I can give you some tea bags'); sharing an apartment complex is the polar opposite. A good appartment neighbour is an unknown neighbour. Someone you don't socialise with, get to know, and most importantly, whose life in no way shape or form affects your own. Don't get me wrong, with the postcode theme I tend to live in very happening areas, and so regardless of my plans of a weekend, I tend to factor in an awareness that I will be gaining my evenings audio entertainment at the pleasure of someone else's set-list. A trade which unless I'm feeling unwell (in which case I'm like a sour faced trout muttering grouchy phrases from under the duvet), I am more than happy to make.
Over the years I've had my fair mix of neighbours from old and frail (I used to do the weekly shopping for one of the golden oldies), to party-maniacs; and like most, have learnt to roll with the punches with a few exceptions. My current apartment sees me with only one neighbour to the side (a bit of a bonus), and appartments both above and below. Those to the side seem to be in a band and tend to practice a couple of evenings a week for a few hours. It is pretty noisy but is never crazy late and nor does it drag out. The guys below me seem to rock dolby speakers and action movies a lot of the time but again, come 10ish on a weekday, not a squeak. There's even an operatic wannabe somewhere in the block who has the lungs of a whale and likes to fire a few arias out before work but again I embrace it. My upstairs neighbours however... They are of a whole other ilk entirely.
Cue a perfect example of a time when you need to be dating or living with a buff guy.
Last night (Sunday) around 9pm a sound that I can only assume is attributed to some kind of industrial floor sander with accompanying hoovering and hammering commenced. I can't lie... I was instantly annoyed. Who starts building work at 9pm on a Sunday? Anyway tick forward another 2 hours and it was showing no signs of letting up and so after much deliberation and a LOT of deep breaths I decided to throw a hoodie on over my pjs, walk up the stairs and knock. When I got to their door the sound was insanely loud - why hadn't their next door neighbours complained? No sooner had I rapped three times the hammering and sanding stopped, but there was no answer. I assumed they too were apprehensive about who was going to be on the other side of the door but regardless had taken the hint. I headed back to my apartment feeling pleased with myself... it didn't last long.
By 11:30 Ser3ndipity had left the building and my inner wolf had erupted. Whatever they were doing they could be under no false assumptions about how crazy loud it was. They themselves must have been wearing headphones - surely? I threw my hoodie back on and walked back up the stairs, knocking on their door with firm fury. Again the noise instantly stopped, and again no answer. I knocked again, this time hearing the hushed words of other neighbours as they had opened their inner doors and were standing behind their outer storm doors waiting to hear what was going to happen. It appears the noise was bothering everyone, but only this little chick was brave enough to try and make it stop. I knocked one last time. Nothing. I was absolutely fizzing, a volcano ready to erupt. I opened the letter box and spouted a sentance of sheer venom 'keep up this nonsense assholes and the next people to grace your front door will be the police'. I walked slowly back to my apartment (I figured by this point I needed to give off as much kick-ass as possible as being a single female and taking on a flat of prick-like men isn't really high on my to-do list), the noise started up again in what I can only assume now was a small act of defiance before stopping a couple of minutes later.
I really hope that tonight doesn't bring round two, but I suspect it might. I'm all for standing my ground, but why the chick who lives by herself has to be the one to knock on the scary door when there were at least other apartments housing other clearly annoyed neighbours, I will never know.
Ki: Theory - Stand By Me
No comments:
Post a Comment