I've lived in this apartment almost six years. I think that's the longest I've lived any one place my whole life. How strange.
In that six years I have had four different neighbors next door. The only noise we hear is on the stairs where we share a wall and in the upstairs bathroom.
My first neighbors were Claire and her grown daughter Suzanne. Claire was in her early eighties and a petite, lively lady. She walked everywhere she could, including the local beach, with her beach chair over her shoulder to meet her childhood friends for a day of baking in the sun. Claire is the one who encouraged me to call the police to break into my house when I accidently locked myself out with my three-year-old napping and my baby crawling around the kitchen floor. I was sure she was putting plastic bags over her head. Claire only had one load of laundry a week and usually did it on Sunday.
My second neighbor was Lisa with her husband Ariel and sons Josh and David. Lisa was delightful. I still miss her. Lisa adored my Emily. Lisa understood that a middle child could use some extra adoration. Lisa miscarried a little girl shortly after 9/11. She thought it was stress related. Lisa worried about Emily walking down the stairs. Lisa brought Hunter and Emily surprises like NY Yankee shirts when Samuel was born. Lisa crocheted an afgahn for Samuel. Lisa arranged separate laundry days and often folded the laudry I left in.
My third neighbor was Sandi and her husband Micky and their daughter Ariel and later a new baby, Noah. Sandi never took out the recycling. Ever. She complained about everything. She demanded a lot. She seemed a little clueless and a lot "entitled." She appeared scandalized when I asked her to listen to my baby monitor while I ran to pick Hunter up from school. And she monopolized the laundry both day and night. She had no problem taking my laundry out and piling it in any dirty spot to put hers in, right between loads.
My fourth neighbors, Hannah and Moishe. So nice. Young, newly-weds and just so nice. They say they don't mind that we've taken over most of the extra storage. She was embarassed and apologetic when she asked if they could have some of it back. She also felt bad to ask me to move my car off her New York Times. We got together to play games one night and we talk about doing it again. They've invited us to parties at their house with all their young friends. Hannah and Moishe are not often home and they generate very little laundry.
Below my apartment is a small studio apartment that poses its own problems. The studio has had two tenents since I moved in.
Bill lived there when we moved in. He was friendly enough and we discovered early on that he liked loud music. I decided I didn't mind the loud music so much if I didn't have to tell my kids to be quiet. We carved out a mutually noisy existence. During a dinner with the missionaries one of the missionaries recognized one of the songs coming through the floor. "Hey, that's Limp Biscuit." He was very excited. I guess it had been a while since he had heard Limp Biscuit. Over the next several months we found that Bill was a "social smoker." Anytime he had guests the smell of cigarette smoke became very strong in our living room. We would often hear laughter and loud talking in conjunction with the smoke. Bill also took up the electric guitar while he lived downstairs. It was fun to hear his progress on a nightly basis. Every once in a while when the music got so loud that it started to shake the pictures on the wall, Michael would bang on the floor and Bill would turn it down. But we usually didn't complain until after 11 pm. Bill did very little laundry. I think he took it home to his parents or to his girlfriend's. I saw Bill in his underwear once in the laundry room.
When Bill moved out, Jesse moved in. Jesse does not play loud music. Jesse watches a lot of TV. I know this because every time I go down to do laundry I can hear his TV. Jesse is a groundskeeper at a prestigious golf course. I guess there is not a lot of work in the winter. About six months ago Alisha, Jesse's girlfriend, and Cutter, a large black lab, moved into the studio apartment.Jesse and Alisha have more laundry than Jesse alone. I sometimes find a forgotten thong on the floor of the laundry room. Their giant dog leaves dog hair all over the laundry room and Alisha thinks she's helping by putting my laundry in the dryer for me. (see previous post
Can I Complain?)
As frustrating as the laundry is, it's not the biggest problem with these neighbors. It only took a couple of weeks for the fighting to start. I'm sure that living in tight quarters can make anyone cranky. But they seem completely oblivious to the fact that they share this space with other people. This is how it goes. Jesse watches TV all day while Alisha goes to work. When she gets home they start the fight. They fight about everything; what she eats or doesn't eat, his previous unfaithfullness, the price of marijuana, who was disrespectful in front of the others parents. They yell a lot and slam things around. They use the F--- word a whole lot. Then the door slams and shakes the whole house and it gets quiet for a while. A few hours later I'm sitting in my living room watching TV and I hear loud noises again. At first I think they're fighting again and I wonder why either one of them stays in this. Then I realize those aren't fighting noises, those are "making up" noises. I am disgusted.
There are a few things I shouldn't have to hear in my living room. I shouldn't have to hear people saying the F word and I shouldn't have to hear people doing the F word.
There should be a bill of rights for people who share floors and walls.
It occurs to me that Bill's loud music was not so inconsiderate after all. Perhaps he was protecting us from the other noises coming from his apartment.
