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I could kill, but I don’t care about it

Hey, you know, I never got around to say­ing what hap­pened when the build­ing man­age­ment guy came to visit. I guess it is because it was nowhere near as cat­a­strophic as I was expect­ing it to be. Long story short, our build­ing is being con­verted into con­dos! But we’re not in any dan­ger of being thrown out on the street by July or any­thing, nor are they tear­ing the place down com­pletely or rais­ing our rent. They’re not giv­ing us a set time to get out, but since the places are all being gut­ted, we’ve got to get out even­tu­ally, even if we decide to buy a unit. Haha “unit,” haha.
We played along with the dude even though we have maybe 3% inter­est in cop­ing with the entire extrav­a­ganza. I lob­bied for cen­tral air (which, inex­plic­a­bly, they won’t install) and bet­ter sound­proof­ing. The guy seemed sur­prised. I was sur­prised that he was sur­prised. Hadn’t they got­ten any com­plaints about these peo­ple? It was my big chance to rat out the neigh­bors, but I didn’t bother, because … why bother?
I can’t even begin to describe how awful our neigh­bors’ behav­ior is. I mean, it’s insane. There are the peo­ple next door who used to keep a garbage pail out­side their front door where they’d dis­pose their dirty dia­pers. Our doors face each other. It wasn’t pleas­ant. (The build­ing man­ager even­tu­ally got them to stop. Now we’ve found out the build­ing man­ager has been let go for allegedly “harass­ing” the ten­ants. What? Dame she got results.) Since he can’t leave his refuse out in pub­lic areas any­more, the man of the house has taken to hit­ting big plas­tic balls on his back wall with a hockey stick for fif­teen min­utes, like three times a day, while his baby daugh­ter just sits out there and screams and screams and screams. Then the balls fly over the fence and hit our back wall, or bet­ter yet, our win­dows. And now we’ve got a col­lec­tion of his balls in our back­yard. Haha “his balls,” haha.
Don’t even get us started on our upstairs neigh­bors. When I dis­cov­ered that the front-​to-​back-​to-​front rum­bling noises were the result of the chil­dren rid­ing their Big Wheels through the apart­ment, I had to go get the cam­era to cap­ture the evi­dence because I am sim­ply that vin­dic­tive.
neighbors1 neighbors2
I mean, Jesus. They also like to sweep off their bal­cony onto our patio. They’re top-​notch folks, I tell you what.
These are things peo­ple just don’t do when they live in apart­ment com­plexes, or so I thought. But the good news is that we won’t have to put up with that non­sense any­more. The bad news is we’ve got to flip­ping move first. Attached to that will hope­fully be more good news! Watch this space.

4 comments to I could kill, but I don’t care about it

  • Kim

    Another Girl, Another Planet” by the Only Ones

  • Oh my God. This has noth­ing to do with any­thing, but today, 40 min­utes into “Passions” (I think. Who knows when the 9/​11 com­mis­sion went on break and it really started?) Luis said to Antonio (in the mid­dle of explain­ing how he was insane and ugly — ok, maybe not the last part), “You don’t even have a shirt on.” You know, because they are about to have their big shirt­less brawl, and Luis is home, so that is OK, but Antonio came to the door to fight him or what­ever. Shirtless. Luis is a genius. I feel it was an adlib.

  • Is Hank DEAF or some­thing? “Hey, buddy, I thought I heard some­one smash­ing my door in.” I was THIS close to remov­ing my shirt while watch­ing the show, which is a sign that I have seen too much of this show and really need to con­sider my career options more seriously

  • Kim

    That was the great­est thing to hap­pen on “Passions” in weeks. Maybe months. Probably months.