03 December 2010

I'm a Neurotic 90 Year Old Jewish Man

I try not to be crotchety old lady about the loud music my neighbors play. Hey it's New York! We love music! At 2 am! On a Tuesday night! As much as I hem and haw about having to hear it, it takes kind of a lot for me to get it up to say something to the offender. And of course by that time, I'm fit to cause serious injury (emotionally, with my laser eyes). Since I've moved into my new place, it's mostly been the girl across the hall. She was entertaining a gentleman friend one weeknight evening, and by evening I mean late at night. They were watching a movie in what sounded like surround sound. It was an action movie! I could tell from all the explosions n' stuff. So midnight rolls around, as I'm trying to get some studying done, and of course, the volume diminishes not. Soooooo I go and knock. She must be expecting this, right? She takes a moment to come to the door (they were probably making out, as I heard the throes of love-makings not long after). She calls through the door "Who is it?" Seriously? "Your neighbor across the hall" I says. She opens the door. "Hey uh, can you turn that down? It's pretty loud and I'm trying to sleep." Her mouth says "Really? Oh sorry." Her face says "I'm not going to turn it down, because I am a bitch." As it turns out, it's her face that's telling the truth.

My upstairs neighbor plays music often, but not ragingly loud. Until tonight. The sound seems to come from the area furthest from where my bed is, so as long as it's not really interfering with that whole sleep thing, I suck it up. What's weird about this guy (I assumed it was a guy, and it is - maybe it was the heavy step) is that it always seems to be the same album. The same song even? Over and over. And he'll play it late, yet be getting up in the morning, when I'm getting ready for work.

Tonight this fella comes home around 11:45ish. Puts the music on right away, but real loud like, not like he usually does. I didn't wanna go up there. I hate confrontation. I have a violent bodily response to the faintest idea of confrontation. I get so pumped full of adrenaline I can hardly speak, and I probably look and sound like an idiot to the person I'm trying to all coolly ask to turn the music/movie/sex down. But I didn't want to let it go on, let him think it was acceptable, and then start doing it all the time, because then I would have to unleash the kraken. So up I went. Knocked. He turned off the music right away and came to the door - took him a bit too long to unlock it. It seemed like he must have a dozen deadbolts to unlatch in there. Finally he pulled the door open. Some blonde hipster boy. He had a look on his face, some sad look, and reeked of booze - can you get contact drunk from sharing air space? His look drained him of any power I might have awarded him, so I wasn't so nervous when I told him I live below him and it's pretty loud, can he turn it down please. "Really?" he said in this shaky voice - drunk voice or sad voice? Or maybe even drugged up voice? "Really??" I thought, I mean c'mon, it is OBVIOUSLY too loud, too late. "Thanks" I said and walked back downstairs.

He waited a few minutes before turning it back on, much, much lower. But he has some of my sympathies now. That music he plays over and over, it's sadtown. Music a broken heart might listen to. Poor drunk hipster boy.

1 comment:

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