Tag: apartment living

Don't Be An Asshole

How hard is it? Apparently, very hard, because wow, so many people are assholes. 
We all should have the right to live our lives as we see fit, but when your living takes away another’s rights, you need to slow your roll. Step back, bish.
Back when I first moved into the apartment building I live in (almost 5 years ago), I was introduced to the unwritten “rules” and considerations of the building. Those rules were, basically, “Don’t Be An Asshole”. It seemed pretty simple. Common sense, ya know? 
Some examples:

  1. Don’t run your vacuum at 3:00 AM
  2. Keep prostitute visits to a minimum
  3. Don’t leave your shit-stained underwear in the shared washer for hours, because… I shouldn’t have to explain why 
  4. Due to the paper thin walls, try to muffle your screams/moans
  5. Take your damn garbage out…or remove the dead body from the premises 
  6. A Non-Smoking building MEANS YOU DON’T SMOKE IN YOUR APARTMENT
  7. Don’t slam your doors like a spoiled-brat child 
  8. If you’re deaf, maybe music isn’t for you
  9. In case you weren’t previously aware, you are not the only tenant in a single family home-THIS IS A SHITTY APARTMENT BUILDING 

The reason these rules are especially important where I live is because the building was built in the 60’s, during a time when properties were mass-produced, hastily. Not to mention, the landlord won’t even fix a leaking toilet. Mix it all up, for a very special poop-flavored smoothie, and you have a building where when your neighbor sneezes, you say, “Bless you” and they respond, “Thank you, Katie.” These considerations are integral to the functionality of the building and the sanity of the tenants.  
For almost four glorious years, I lived here in peace. The other tenants were older, quiet, and almost hermit-like. It was the ideal life. I was never woken from my sleep. I never had to say to my neighbors, “So, um last night…for three straight hours…”
Nope. 
I almost forgot that I had any neighbors. It was how it should be. My neighbors and I abided by those unspoken, “Don’t Be a Dick” rules. Because, we weren’t dicks. 
Now, I’ve had to deal with crappy neighbors, one after the other. 
I don’t recall ever being taught, specifically, about how to be kind to my neighbors, but it was taught. It was taught when I was yelled at for blasting Bush at 11 PM on a school night. It was taught when I was reprimanded for putting my dirty dishes outside my bedroom door, for someone else to deal with. My dirty dishes found their way back on my bed, with a note, “This isn’t the Hilton.” That did it. It was taught when my dad threatened to pull the plug on a raucous slumber party, with phone and car keys in hand. That’s all it took. It was taught. 
Not only was it taught, I was witness to my parents being decent fucking people. When we saw people being creeps in public, my parents pointed out why it wasn’t decent behavior. Living in this day and age, I had an endless amount of learning opportunities. 
This rant is for the assholes who live a paper-thin wall away from me and for all the other people who aren’t aware that they aren’t the CENTER OF THE EFFING UNIVERSE. Look around, open your eyes, it isn’t all about you. 

Rant #…I Lost Count

I hate a lot of things: sweaty pits, calories, when popcorn gets stuck in my teeth, and the taste of plastic, to name just a few. I very rarely apply the word hate to people. I feel it’s too strong of an emotion for other human beings, who are just trying to do their thing. My mama taught me to just say, “highly dislike” when referring to a person. Well, don’t tell my mom, but I HATE THE GUY UPSTAIRS. 
I tried to just “highly dislike” him, but I can’t. I can’t. I simply hate him, and for damn good reason too. 
Let me explain. 
Despite the fact that he knows his entire living space resides over our bedroom, he actively chooses to drop heavy objects on the floor at 2:00 AM. 
Instead of simply closing his closet door, he slams it like a dumb ape. Same with the kitchen cabinets. I wonder, sometimes, if he has no clue that doors don’t need to be slammed in order to shut. Some people are dumb like that. 
Almost every night he rearranges his entire living space. That, or he is dragging dead bodies around, doing God-knows-what with them. For a time I was terrified, convinced that we had the next Ed Gein above us. I mean, WHAT ELSE MAKES THAT SOUND? 
  

This dude is the reason I have so little respect for approximately 90% of the human population on Earth. He’s inconsiderate, consciously unaware, and obviously he’s rarely been told he’s in the wrong. 
If I was made aware that I was making someone else lose sleep, I would immediately start being more conscious and careful of the noise I make. I hate when people don’t like me, so much so, I would make it more than a point to do my part to make them happy. It’s because I’m a good fucking person, and I have a guilt complex. 
 

Courtesy of Pinterest
 
In my desperation, exhaustion, delirium, I’ve occasionally felt the need to, perhaps, make friends with him, to beg him, on bended knee, to let me FUCKING SLEEP. But, then, he drops a bowling ball precisely 20 times between the hours of 1:00 AM and 3:00 AM, and I’m reminded that I have standards, when it comes to my friends. 
Because our world is full of the “everyone gets an award” mentality and the, “I’m not going to admit I’m wrong, so I’ll cry shaming” standard, this guy is totally within his rights to be a total inconsiderate ass. If your idea of “regular living noise” is playing catch with a can of corn, and you’re a horrible catcher, then ‘play ball’, ya fuck. 
THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING I CAN DO. 
The only recourse I have is to slam my squeeky window closed at 5:30 AM, when I know he’s likely trying to sleep. Or, I’ll not be dainty about getting my coffee mug out from under all the rest of the dishes in the drain rack. Oops, I knocked over all of the dishes. My bad. Literally seconds after my impulse revenge noise-making, I feel guilty. I’m not a shitty person. Responding in a way rude people would just isn’t what I’m about. I’m better than that. 
So, I continue to whisper, tiptoe, and make as little noise as I can in the early morning because I’m a good fucking person. It sucks.
I only hope that because I’m a good person, he will move on someday, preferably somewhere no one else has to deal with “Guy Who Gives No Fucks”, because I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. 
End rant. 
If you feel my pain, but need to laugh through the pain, check out this video. It’s pretty accurate: 
Upstairs Neighbors