The Last Straw
I despise confrontation. Those of you who know me in person are probably really surprised by that. No, really - if something really annoys me, I'll usually deal with it entirely in my head, plotting a complex, intricate revenge in exquisite detail. This plan, of course, will never see the light of day.
The last several nights have been quite unbearable. My next door neighbor is playing some violent video game, and he (I'm assuming it's a 'he' - I know absolutely no women who would stay up this late on a weekday night or ever to play a video game) has been playing it until about 3 o'clock in the morning with his speakers turned up to 11. The wall that my bedroom shares with his apartment his been vibrating in perfect synchronization with his subwoofer. When this person isn't playing video games, he's playing his techno dance music even louder (the very same apartment that made it into my Axis of Quasi-Evil).
So, I've just let it go, but it's certainly messing with my sleeping patterns. Last night I didn't fall asleep until 4:30 AM and then woke up at noon. Obviously, this can't go on. Tonight I figured I'd let him play until 1 in the morning before I stomped over there. The clock passed 1, and the explosive vibrations continued. I tried to sleep through it, pretending that the noise was merely a passing storm. Then it got louder and then the opposite wall gave a little twitch. FINALLY, I got out of bed, picked up my keys (because it would be just like me to lock myself out at a time like this), and walked over. I knocked on the door. No answer - apparently he couldn't hear me. I waited for a break in the explosions before I knocked again. I heard the game pause. The door opened.
Now, for some reason, I imagined that some college frat boy was going to open up and respond to my request with that characteristic mix of arrogance and condescension. That I would get into one of those college dormitory speaker wars which sinks into more vile behavior like crank calls in the middle of the night or stuffing stink bombs under each other's apartment door. Thoughts like that were enough to prevent me from initiating any kind of complaint against my next-door neighbor. But I needed sleep, so this time, I was going to do it.
The person that opened the door was just a skinny, pale kid of indeterminate age. He could have been 15, he could have been 21 - either way, he needed some sunlight and some exercise. One of those kids you see spending their entire day socializing with the kids who have the privilege of a job at EB Games. I imagine those EB Games employees are gods to this guy.
Anyway, he looked surprised to see me. I said politely, "Hey there, I live next door to you - would you mind turning down your speakers?" Video-game Boy said, "Uh, okay." So he turned the speakers down. I can still hear him, but at least my walls aren't vibrating anymore.
And that's it. Sorry, anti-climactic, I know, and I regret not putting him in a headlock just for the sake of this blog entry, but that's life - you have to get used to disappointment.
The last several nights have been quite unbearable. My next door neighbor is playing some violent video game, and he (I'm assuming it's a 'he' - I know absolutely no women who would stay up this late on a weekday night or ever to play a video game) has been playing it until about 3 o'clock in the morning with his speakers turned up to 11. The wall that my bedroom shares with his apartment his been vibrating in perfect synchronization with his subwoofer. When this person isn't playing video games, he's playing his techno dance music even louder (the very same apartment that made it into my Axis of Quasi-Evil).
So, I've just let it go, but it's certainly messing with my sleeping patterns. Last night I didn't fall asleep until 4:30 AM and then woke up at noon. Obviously, this can't go on. Tonight I figured I'd let him play until 1 in the morning before I stomped over there. The clock passed 1, and the explosive vibrations continued. I tried to sleep through it, pretending that the noise was merely a passing storm. Then it got louder and then the opposite wall gave a little twitch. FINALLY, I got out of bed, picked up my keys (because it would be just like me to lock myself out at a time like this), and walked over. I knocked on the door. No answer - apparently he couldn't hear me. I waited for a break in the explosions before I knocked again. I heard the game pause. The door opened.
Now, for some reason, I imagined that some college frat boy was going to open up and respond to my request with that characteristic mix of arrogance and condescension. That I would get into one of those college dormitory speaker wars which sinks into more vile behavior like crank calls in the middle of the night or stuffing stink bombs under each other's apartment door. Thoughts like that were enough to prevent me from initiating any kind of complaint against my next-door neighbor. But I needed sleep, so this time, I was going to do it.
The person that opened the door was just a skinny, pale kid of indeterminate age. He could have been 15, he could have been 21 - either way, he needed some sunlight and some exercise. One of those kids you see spending their entire day socializing with the kids who have the privilege of a job at EB Games. I imagine those EB Games employees are gods to this guy.
Anyway, he looked surprised to see me. I said politely, "Hey there, I live next door to you - would you mind turning down your speakers?" Video-game Boy said, "Uh, okay." So he turned the speakers down. I can still hear him, but at least my walls aren't vibrating anymore.
And that's it. Sorry, anti-climactic, I know, and I regret not putting him in a headlock just for the sake of this blog entry, but that's life - you have to get used to disappointment.
*******
What I'm listening to now: Sweet silence. Almost.
posted by Mikey at 2:03 AM
16 Comments:
This comment should be understood in the context of the fact that I thrive on conflict, and what follows is a recipe likely to increase the amount of acrimony between you and your neighbor.
But you know, for situations like this they have a thing called police. One calls these police to come enforce another thing called a noise ordinance (or put a stop to a thing called disturbing the peace). These [stabbing air with bunny fingers] poh-leece will come be confrontational on your behalf, thus relieving you of the worry and stress related to being forced to threaten to beat up the emaciated anemic loser next door for being such a chode.
I have to admit that I WAS quite disappointed that this story didn't end with a stabbing, or you breaking up a drug smuggling/child kidnapping ring in bullet-dancing-John-Woo style after losing your best friend-slash-partner to these same drug-smuggling-child-kidnappers earlier in the film...uhh..story.
I've heard tales of these "police" kinjo, and even sought out the shaman on the mountain who could lead me to these "police", and did in fact solicit their divine support in these matters in my days of college yore. The noise offenders never seemed to heed the guidance of these "police", though, as I had to seek their presence many a weekend.
ok, so, third time is the charm, right? cut 'n paste? perhaps the city/state needs to become involved if this child is actually a minor. I mean, really, there might be more to the story and the noise is just how it's presenting itself. (not saying you need to get involved) but calling the cops next time? might scare him into submission or something, but that's just strange.
wow, I'm just not as funny as the other two guys lol. I'm tryin here, really best foot forward.
lol
kat
I understand your skepticism regarding the utility of summoning the police, but in the Boston area they seem pretty aimless and lonely. At least they don't appear to have much passion for the job except when I'm trying to enjoy a public event unmolested (a different blog entry coming soon). I like to give them something better to do than just hang around eating doughnuts. Which gets us back to Basho.
ha, I have a story about the word molest ... seeing as I'm fairly unfamiliar with the language of law, I was completely confused when I first saw this on a sign about what not to do on a beach, cant create a link so I'll post it...for shits and giggles.
http://thekatster.blogspot.com/2005/03/lets-go-fly-kite_23.html
The 'Police' were definitely involved in the plan I'd conjured up, but they were a last resort. I figure at the very least I should ask politely, right? The opening salvo should be a warning shot, or else the whole conflict immediately becomes a testosteroney pissing contest. But after that first notice, anything goes.
Maybe the story isn't over yet. Maybe there will still be violence (or humiliating practical jokes) to be had. One can only hope, right Dave?
Kat - did you ever figure out how to molest all those animals? :)
I suppose it is jarring when I use the word like that. =) Literally, the word means "to bother" although common (euphemistic) usage has placed it in a context as a synonym for a variety of sexual assault (but hey, let's call a spade a spade). From www.m-w.com: Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French molester, from Latin molestare, from molestus burdensome, annoying....
It's probably not the place for me to get into my political opinions about the use of the word. But I will say I laughed at your beach sign story. =)
The 'Police' were definitely involved in the plan I'd conjured up, but they were a last resort. I figure at the very least I should ask politely, right?
I suppose calling the popo is a Nuclear Option that ought to be reserved for a more appropriate time (assuming that it will escalate the conflict, not necessarily ending it). =( You're right again, Mike. *sulks off scuffing dirt*
Sorry to hear that punk has continued to bother you. Way to do something about the situation...finally. It especially sucks because you're working on a tight schedule of deadlines! Speaking of deadlines, (ahem) don't you have one coming up tomorrow? Get back to work!!! 0:)
Cathy
wow, I haven't actually 'figured out' how to molest those poor animals. that's awful lol. kinjo, awesome characture. I made one but can't get the 'email avatar' button to work for me so I can post my own creation - muahahaa...
yes I am this strange, sometimes?
kat ;)
Kat,
I could never get the e-mail avatar button to work either, so I did a screen capture with a freeware program called "captura" and saved it as a jpg. Saves me the trouble of checking for the e-mail and getting put on some spam list when the site sells my addy. Paranoid? Yes. Yes I am.
=)
Dude, I am one such woman that stays up late with violent video games, hootin' and hollerin' and Betty Boopin' until the morning ...
I knew I'd take flak over that statement, krystyn, Most likely from you :-)
How's this: I know precious few women who would stay up this late to play violent videogames, but in all likelihood are pretty darn cool and aren't pale, pencilneck geeks.
I'm a little behind here, but here's some responses for comments way back.
Kinjo-Viva. La. Rock.
Mikey-Well, I certainly agree that you should at least give him a chance to stop being a jerk. I gave my neighbors a chance in college...they blew it. Good luck, bud. And I add in my "Get back to work!"
Boy guys...molesting animals gets into a whole subject not fit for print ;-). Anyhow, but to work for me.
kinjo, no captura found in a language that I could understand. Perhaps I'm looking up the wrong thing? I was invited to a hockey game by a guy who is 22 - six years my junior. Easy out as a youth minister? I've got CYO program tonight!he's acutally ok to hang out with, and I actually have a cyo program. everyone is holed up somewhere(anyone my age) either with a baby, house, law firm, on-call, you name it they are busy. I'm am totally feeling sorry for myself lol. Yes, yes I am. hm!
;)
ya'll have a great day na'
mikey, go study ma fren!
I'll have an Irish carbomb for ya?
how about that?
kat,
For the pic, just hit the "Prnt Scrn" button on your keyboard. An image of your desktop should be saved to your clipboard, and you can paste it into any graphics application like Photoshop, or Paint.
And yes, thanks for the push. Mmmm... Irish car bombs = tasty
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