Bump and Grind in the Dark

There is nothing like the sound of cop radios erupting outside of your apartment in the building’s hallway during the middle of the night! Lifting my head off the pillow, I can hear the mutant like monotone of electronic spittle echoing in tandem with footsteps as some unknown brigade of policemen walk by my room’s front door. Hurriedly on their way to the apartment at the end of the hall no doubt, where that really angry sweaty guy has been building something twenty four hours a day for the last few weeks.

Knock! Knock! Hello sweaty dude! This is your wake-up call!

Only sweaty dude hasn’t slept once in the four months since he moved in, so a wake-up call it isn’t and as usual they’ll just tell him to stop building that spaceship or those gallows or whatever the hell it is that he’s been working on all nonstop and overly energetic like. And then they’ll retreat back down the hall to the elevator and their radio static will start to fade with it abruptly ending as the elevator’s doors close shut and they ride downstairs and recoil into the safe sensibility of their black and white patrol cars.

Its three AM and I don’t even hear sweaty dude’s makita cordless screw gun any more. It sorta went the way of the freeway noise when I lived on the other side of the building. After a few weeks you get used to it, kinda start to like it, almost crave it in order to get to sleep and then one day when you can hear yourself think you realize that sweaty dude’s either run out of speed and hopefully catching a few well needed Z’s or he’s dead and curled up in a fetal position on the floor with the needle still stuck in his arm never to torque another two inch self taping philips-head screw again.

Must a been someone new that just moved in and wasn’t used to being serenaded with a radial-arm saw after midnight that called the cops on sweaty. Certainly wasn’t my immediate next door neighbor, who I’ve never even once seen. But now that I’m awake I can hear her crying like I usually do on those nights when I’m laying in bed staring at the ceiling around three fifteen in the morning. Sobbing in relinquent anguish and obviously just on the other side of the thin communal wall that our bedrooms share and whatever it is that she weeps about has been haunting her well before the first night that I occupied this apartment. Her nocturnal routine however never seems to vary or subside. Always in the dead of the night she cries and moans, and no she isn’t having sex as there is no pleasure or lust in her voice. It is just the sounds of regret and a certain tone of loss that I can hear.

Depressing as she is, I’d rather have her on both sides sniffling away on the late night schedule than what I’ve got now for a neighbor across on the other side of the room. Too many mornings I’ve been woken up way too early by the over-amplified sounds of George Benson loudly playing “On Broadway” as the books in my shelves rustle and vibrate and what’s worse, when Mister Benson hits those tonal high notes as he bends that G minor my neighbor sings along in a tone deaf conspiracy!

Yesterday I couldn’t take it any more. I had been “On Broadway” every morning now for the past two weeks. So at six in that morning before I left for work I pulled out the Sex Pistols CD, punched up the stereo’s volume and with the speakers pressed firmly against our mutual wall I pushed play and then repeat, which it will then do until I push stop, and left for the day. When I returned some twelve hours later I think I heard a whispered thank you through the wall as I turned the reverberating stereo off and opened my blinds to the setting sun and the sweet murmur of rush hour traffic on the streets below.

12 Responses

  1. EJ

    I don’t know what I love most. You, this post, or putting your CD player on repeat!!!!

  2. Anonymous

    classy. [snicker]-bxn

  3. aughra

    “never to torque another two inch self taping philips-head screw again”great! Sigh, I think that since I referenced Sid and Nancy in my latest post, and you tortured your neighbor with the Sex Pistols in yours, we are psychically connected. And thus the mutual stalking continues!!

  4. Anon

    You crack me up. Poor sweaty guy must’ve been bummed he couldn’t finish putting his entertainment center/ mini Meth lab together that night. I wonder what neighbor #2 is crying about so early. Maybe her booty call never showed. You should try whispering to her thru the walls… maybe she’s hot. When we lived in an apt, Miles was itty bitty and our neighbors were wanna be rockstars. Not a problem, unless of course practice is between oh, 8am-12am. Round the clock & they sucked. We used to put our speakers on the floor, blast End Hits by Fugazi or as I preferred, Frank Sinatras’ greatest hits. We’d turn it up so loud that shit would fall off the walls. They never moved out. The battle waged on until we finally bought a house. Rat bastards.

  5. qqqqqqitup

    Yahhh! Sex Pistols!Rock on 🙂

  6. Wyatt Junker

    Bit of advice on decibel-loading your neighbor. If you have an axe, grind it hard with a death metal pedal at 4 AM. Open the amp up all the way. You might even trip a circuit breaker. Bonus.As for your selection, the SP’s are classic, but try Bolt Thrower or Cannibal Corpse next time, or even the Norwegian shit is pretty good. They say it has the ability, like Wagner, to summon the very spirit of Hitler himself from beyond the pale. Your neighbors will definitely notice.

  7. Christi Lee

    Bust out those razor blades like , now…

  8. tofallfromgrace

    sex pistols as a passive-aggressive weapon. i never thought i would live to see the day. . .nice work! *grin*

  9. Anonymous

    Your noisy neighbor solution reminds me of another scintillatingly appropriate revenge act I heard of once. A woman’s husband was cheating on her, and she decided to leave him the long weekend he went out of town with his paramour. Her last act that Friday afternoon was to call Time in Shanghai on his private land line, and to leave the phone off the hook as she let herself out of the house. He got back Sunday night.

  10. Bunny

    Wow. You know, I actually thought about doing something like that, but this is my upstairs neighbor *pout* so pressing speakers up against the roof isn’t as likely for me. But I did enjoy the fact that I’m not the only one bearing the cross of poor construction in “comunal living” areas.

  11. I think the someecards are hirulioas I found your blog through the HLB database. I’m a New Englander as well, though I may be heading to UNC Asheville in the fall for one semester so I had to say hi!