the neighbors
In flat 1 downstairs, there is a balding, middle-age, Indian man(BMAIM). well, that is what I imagine him to be.
Almost every night for the past two weeks now, he opens his window, smokes pot(I can smell it), and gets drunk(if our one confrontation with him suggests a pattern), and turns his music up so loud that my entire bedroom seems to vibrate. It usually starts around eleven and goes until anywhere around 3 A.M.
His taste in music is eclectic. Some nights, I'm punished with awful, Indian pop. But, yesterday, he cranked up "I'll Be Missing You." Faith Evans has never been more irritating.
During each one of BMAIM's drunk/high/loud-music fests there comes a point when we just can't take it anymore.
The first time it happened: I scream out the window, "Turn your music down. I'm trying to sleep!" It continues. I jump up and down on the floor, hoping he gets the hint.
The second time: I go for the mature doorbell ditch.
The third time: We pound on his door. No answer. We leave a note: "Please keep your music down. It is keeping us up. Thank Yoy:)"
The doorman tells us the next day that BMAIM is very sorry and promised, "it will never happen again."
But, then two days later, it happens again! bizarre Indian pop! We pound on his door. No answer. Leave a nasty note this time: "Stop playing your damn music so loud or we will call the cops"
A few days pass.
It happens again, softer though. We ignore it this time
A couple more days.
More Loud Indian Pop. I go pound on the door. No answer. An hour later my flatmate goes to pound on the door and meets, for the first and only time, BMAIM. the exchange(so i hear) went something like this:
BMAIM[opens the door, completely wasted, a friend lurks behind him the smell of pot streams out the door]: hello, what's your name, nice to meet you
flatmate: your music. it's SO loud.
BMAIM: Oh, sorry it'll never happen again
flatmate: yeah, that's what you told the doorman last time, asshole, and it keeps happening. if it happens again, we're going to call the cops.
BMAIM: I'm not afraid of the cops! I was in jail for 7 years![this last line is a direct quote]
That was a week ago. It continues. We make nearly daily complaints to the doorman. I'm at the breaking point and it won't be long before I resort to vigilante justice--rocks in windows, egging his door, dumping water into his window from mine.
Almost every night for the past two weeks now, he opens his window, smokes pot(I can smell it), and gets drunk(if our one confrontation with him suggests a pattern), and turns his music up so loud that my entire bedroom seems to vibrate. It usually starts around eleven and goes until anywhere around 3 A.M.
His taste in music is eclectic. Some nights, I'm punished with awful, Indian pop. But, yesterday, he cranked up "I'll Be Missing You." Faith Evans has never been more irritating.
During each one of BMAIM's drunk/high/loud-music fests there comes a point when we just can't take it anymore.
The first time it happened: I scream out the window, "Turn your music down. I'm trying to sleep!" It continues. I jump up and down on the floor, hoping he gets the hint.
The second time: I go for the mature doorbell ditch.
The third time: We pound on his door. No answer. We leave a note: "Please keep your music down. It is keeping us up. Thank Yoy:)"
The doorman tells us the next day that BMAIM is very sorry and promised, "it will never happen again."
But, then two days later, it happens again! bizarre Indian pop! We pound on his door. No answer. Leave a nasty note this time: "Stop playing your damn music so loud or we will call the cops"
A few days pass.
It happens again, softer though. We ignore it this time
A couple more days.
More Loud Indian Pop. I go pound on the door. No answer. An hour later my flatmate goes to pound on the door and meets, for the first and only time, BMAIM. the exchange(so i hear) went something like this:
BMAIM[opens the door, completely wasted, a friend lurks behind him the smell of pot streams out the door]: hello, what's your name, nice to meet you
flatmate: your music. it's SO loud.
BMAIM: Oh, sorry it'll never happen again
flatmate: yeah, that's what you told the doorman last time, asshole, and it keeps happening. if it happens again, we're going to call the cops.
BMAIM: I'm not afraid of the cops! I was in jail for 7 years![this last line is a direct quote]
That was a week ago. It continues. We make nearly daily complaints to the doorman. I'm at the breaking point and it won't be long before I resort to vigilante justice--rocks in windows, egging his door, dumping water into his window from mine.
posted by Ma-keu at 7:08 AM
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