I have a sitcom like tradition in my life. I've always lived (as an adult) underneath a heavy set black man. FYI I'm as white as toilet paper.
All of them have a longstanding tradition. They all make loud, weird, or otherwise audible and curious noises.
My first upstairs neighbor of this sort never directly bothered me. He looked odd. The man looked like a billiard ball with sticks for arms and legs stuck into it. He drove a $1900 car with a $4000 stereo in it. You see, he was a music lover.
He played all sorts of music at all hours at glass shattering volumes. One night techno, the next night opera, then the next night techno opera. Oh, and he had a vocal group too apparently. Three other black guys would often come over drunk as all get out, but those guys could sing! That actually wasn't too bad.
He also was a little different. One night, suffering from insomnia as I sometimes do, I heard him come in at 2 AM. Keep in mind I am TRYING to sleep. I don't like my insomnia when I have to be up at 5:30 AM and all that rot.
Anyway there's someone with him. I hear them make their way to the bedroom, and there's the old creaking bed sound effect and then an audible low pitched grunt. And then I hear another voice... and it too is an audible low pitched grunt. I don't mean to open a can of worms here, but I think we can all agree sitting there and listening to that when you really really didn't want to is just wrong. To this day I just tell myself that it was just a big girl... yeah that's the ticket before an image I can never unimagine burns its way into my retina... :eek:
My next neighbor was much worse. He was a mountain of a man and was never not at home. I think he lived off of welfare checks. He liked to, and I kid thee not, knock over his bookself, flip it over, and then set it back up again. ALL THE TIME.
I never saw him without a Colt 45 (the malt liquour not Browning's classic pistol). He smelled rancid and had a large contingent of loud drunk friends who came and went at all hours. His drunk friends used to try to open the door to my apartment thinking it was his. I got in the habit of sitting there in my chair with my Mossberg across my lap in the evenings. If any of them ever went beyond rattling my knob they were getting a mouth full of steel shot.
I signed several complaints against him, but thankfull then moved.
My current neighbor is the best of the lot by a long shot. Gary has a job fixing dishwashers or something and it must pay all right because these units are income restricted (you have to make something like 10 times the rent, they're actually not that expensive but they can be real picky about who their renters are). The only reason I can live here is because I'm a teacher and I don't have to meet that requirement.
Anyway Gary likes to make furniture. In his living room. Yep. It's actually not very loud. There's a little hammering sometimes and the soft whir of a circular saw, but he always stops by 8 PM. He's also the only one to ever ask me if he could make the noises. He does most of it while I'm at work anyway.
He's a little odd but unlike the others, he's always very busy. The weird thing is, his apartment doesn't have any furniture in it except for whatever he's currently making. He has a mattress and a TV and all the appliances you'd expect but it's all spilled out on the floor.
And the man MAKES FURNITURE.
Now why is he my happy neighbor?
Because, and I quote,
So there you go. My life is a sitcom.Quote:
"Man I love living with you white folks! You all so quiet and you keep to yo' own damn bidness!"