The guy who lives next door, in apartment 2B, likes to play guitar hero at all hours of the day. He enjoys doing this while trying to blow out his speakers. It makes our walls, floor, and furniture shake. Once we baked him a chocolate cake and played a few songs with him. Though we didn’t smoke anything while we were there, we smelled like weed the rest of the night. He also holds drunk kareoke parties for his male friends at 4am. We might have called the cops once or twice, but we’re learning that does nothing. On Valentines Day, he sang a slow and very sad song all by himself at 2 in the morning. I think he needs a girlfriend, but in my opinion, once he better invests his time in something besides guitar hero, it could happen.
Then there is a dude who lives above us, in 3A. He likes to vacuum all the time. Vacuum, vacuum, vacuum. I like to imagine his place is all nice and tidy, extra clean and super shiney. But this thought puts me to shame for rarely dusting our shelves and never sweeping in the corners.
The woman below us, in 1A, has a darling hair cut. I wish I could pull something off like that. But I can’t. And Josh, my husband, has this unofficial rule about me cutting my hair. He hasn’t come out and said I’m not allowed to do it, but then again, he has this way of saying just that without, well, saying it. Which is a big deal in our home right now, since I’m debating doing it out of spite and threaten him with it all the time. But my jaw bone structure is all wrong for that sort of cut, so forget it. Anway, Kathy, the lady in 1A…well, she has issues. She thinks we move furniture around at odd hours in the night. We dont. And we never have.
Then there is a lady who lives somewhere on the 5th floor, and she has heels that go clackity clack down the stairwell every morning around 6:45am. She commutes to Connecticut everyday, which is just silly and so backwards to me. Josh calls it a “reverse commute…” or something like that.
There is also a young violinist living on the 1st floor. Josh doesn’t seem to mind the constant practicing, but in all honesty, this is the reason I moved out of the Juilliard dorm sophomore year. Practice, practice, practice. There is only so much I can take in one day.
There is a couple living on the 4th floor. I have never actually met them, but sometimes when they are coming home late at night, they argue all the way up to their apartment. If I’m standing close by the door and I hear them, I sometimes open the peep hole and spy on them as they argue their way up the stairs. It’s usually the same old story, he burped infront of her friends, she’s embarrassed, he thinks she acts like this mom, blah blah blah. Drama drama drama. But it’s my 15 second soap opera each day so I don’t mind it.
Then there is the woman I met only once and haven’t seen since. She lives in 2D and is a total hippie. When I met her, she was carrying two caramel colored puppies. Upon seeing me she hurried to explain she is aware our building has a strict “no pets” policy and begged that me not to tell on her. She looked so worried I’d tell, but the thought had never crossed my mind. Hey, I’m all about the little puppies. Infact, I’m currently begging my husband for one. I told her I thought her dogs were cute and I wouldn’t say anything. But since I haven’t seen her in a few months, and I’ve watched one too many Law and Order episodes in my 21 years of life, I’m beginning to wonder what the puppies might have done to her.
In all honesty, I think the characters in my building are perfect. It’s why I love living in the crammed space of New York. I’m sure Josh and I contribute to the weirdo’s in our building too and are completely unaware of it, because we think we think we’re rockstars and well…. we’re far from.
Yes, I wouldn’t mind thicker walls and quiet hours, but then again, what would become of all the stories?