The Mystery of Apartment #19

I have developed a bit of an awkward relationship with the folks beneath our apartment.

I make them sound like bridge trolls when I say it that way.  I mean the people who live in the apartment below ours.  

It all started on a night when Dave was playing music rather loudly and we heard a loud thumping, as if someone was pounding something on the ceiling.  Worried that he was probably playing too loud, too late at night, Dave immediately stopped and wondered if the pounding was an indication of anger from the neighbors.  I encouraged him to go discuss it with them and ask if it really was them doing the pounding.  If so, perhaps we could work out a time that they’d like us to consider the cut-off for Dave’s rehearsals.  

He went downstairs, was charming as ever, and came back to report that it wasn’t them and that we must have misheard something.  Then something about girls and dog and so on.  I don’t take much interest in neighbors.

We didn’t have any other excuses to connect with them until I started noticing a distinct heavy tobacco smell in the bathroom.  It turns out there’s a vent that runs up from theirs to ours, and it was my assumption that they were smoking inside.  Though it’s against the rules of the lease, I didn’t really care.  They’re adults, can do as they please, and can happily pay whatever smell it leaves out of their security deposit.  Unfortunately, I didn’t want to sign up for the same thing and the smell was really quite overwhelming at times.  

So Dave went downstairs, was charming as ever, and came back to report that it was them and they would turn on a fan/blow it out a window/stop smoking in the bathroom. 

All was quiet on the home front until one night when one of them came rapping at my door. 

I make it sound like they’re rappers when I saw it that way.   I mean they knocked on our door,  Edgar Allen Poe style.

I don’t answer the door.  I should just say that outrightly.  I never, ever answer the door.  I don’t like to be confronted by the unknown that stands behind it.  I don’t like the idea of dealing with whatever it is, and more importantly, I don’t like to deal with people.  My assumption is that if it’s knocking, it’s probably a human.  And if it’s a human, I’m not interested.

I’m pretty serious about my commitment.  On the night of topic, I sat on my couch browsing the magical Interwebz as they knocked three different times.  I’m sure they saw the light on inside, but for all they know I could have been pooping.  They can’t expect me to answer the door when I’m pooping.

The next morning, I left for work and upon opening the door found two boxes of Girl Scout Cookies and a note written in bubble letters.  Bubble letters are the kind of letters girls write in third grade when they pass notes to each other.  It said something or other about her sister being a girl scout and something or other about thinking “I” would enjoy them.   And then something about considering it a welcome-to-the-building gift.

The note was obviously meant for charming Dave, who was the only one with whom they’d had contact.   He, however, was away visiting his family and I was left to my own devices for quite a few days. I promptly ate the thin mints, put the box of berry crunch whatevers on the fridge to never be touched, and drafted a thank you note.  It was something to the effect of thanking them for the cookies because I’d had a rough day, and then saying we’ve been in the building for two years so I’m not sure if they were intended for us but I sure hope so because they had already been half-eaten.  I was sure to write it in my best impression of bubble letters so that they would get the idea there was a human of the female persuasion upstairs with the charming Dave.

Today I was in the restroom and smelled the overwhelming stench of tobacco coming up through my vent.   The two situations may not be related, but since I’m a hermit with too much time on her hands, I’m gonna go ahead and say they are.  If Dave appears available, they’ll stop smoking in the bathroom and give him cookies.  If he doesn’t, they’ll smoke us out.   Seeing as how I don’t have anything better to do with my life, this presents an opportunity for amusement. 

The challenge, however, is to come up with an idea that doesn’t involve whoring out Dave’s charm.

This next move might take some time to consider. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011, relationships