Dear Downstairs Neighbors,
The both of you can go fuck yourselves right onto the patio you desperately wish was the balcony I possess and rarely use out of spite to you.
Thanks to you, I have three noise violations in the past 6 months and one warning about something seeping through the balcony (you helpfully suggested that I might be allowing my dog to pee out there). You and I must now come to an understanding about a few things.
I have never, ever let my dog pee out on our balcony because that is fucking gross–which is what I told the “Leasing Professional And Community Manager” you scoffed at. I would like to point out that it rained the week before you reported the incident–could the mysterious wet spots have been rain? Water tends to be a substance that might seep through the boards of my balcony from time to time.
I have stopped using my office chair altogether because you have complained about the noise it makes, you know, rolling around on a hardwood floor one or two times an hour. I have taken to wearing soft-soled slippers around my home because my flat feet slapping around make your tummy hurt with worry at the scary sounds. My husband and I have both severely limited our noise from 10 pm-2 am, which is something of a feat, considering those are the only hours we see one another during the day. We do not shut doors. We hardly walk anywhere. We do not allow our dog to run around during those hours. We have tried–with valiant effort–to concede to your wishes because I want to be a good neighbor.
And now we are at an impasse, because you have complained that we are still too loud. Might I offer a few helpful suggestions to alleviate this situation?
- Fuck you.
- What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
- You live in an apartment, chucklefuck. In a complex where someone was recently raped–this shit ain’t great. Are you expecting even the barest insulation if more than half the time, the elevator will not even take you to the floor you need in a 3-floor complex? This place has a 2-star rating on Google, shithead.
- Fuck you with fiery rake.
You are in a building with many, many other people, that uses hope and understood discretion as insulation. It is loud as shit up in here. I can hear the maintenance men whistling at an unholy volume in the garage, 2 floors down. I can hear the community cop hate-fuck his girlfriend one floor above. I can hear my neighbor use his rowing machine, his washer, his disposal, water filter, office chair, vacuum, collection of vibrators, and high-heels on amateur strip night at the club down the street.
I do not complain about the noise from him or any other persons here because literally no one is making excessive noise here. The man upstairs, and indeed all residents of this complex, are just living their lives with a reasonable expectation that they will not be bothering others by carrying on their lives as normal. I’m sorry that now, my mere existence ruins your day, but get the fuck over it Tonya Harding. I no longer care about your white-noise pity party–turn up the TV, either and move on with your life or move outta here.
If I get one more noise complaint from you or the insinuation that I have plotted to dirty bomb you with dog piss again, I will face my giant speakers to the floor and play the entire soundtrack to A Goofy Movie, on repeat, all fucking weekend when I’m not home. But you will be…
Your move, Powerline.
Noa D. Gavin
What shitty neighbors have you had? Has anyone ever called foul on you unnecessarily?– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Mayor Gia: “Is that a burrito? Oh, I could totally kick ass at THOSE olympics.”