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| Photo: i-D magazine |
Having loud, obnoxious neighbors with whom you share a wall is a special kind of hell. A few months ago, a young couple moved into the gloriously silent apartment next door--on our bedroom side. At least I think it's a couple. That's who I saw when I went over in a fury late one night when they were blaring Miley Cyrus or some other top-40 monstrosity. The girl, who had terrible teeth I might add, was apologetic. Her cohort was frying something and looked less than pleased to have company. It was midnight on a Sunday. Who fries things at that hour? Since then, I've seen other people leave their apartment looking like maybe they live there, so I'm not entirely sure to whom I should be directing my hostility. But they are the WORST.
So, after I went over to "meet" our new neighbors and politely inform them that a fundamental characteristic of all apartments is the sharing of walls, the silence lasted a good 48 hours. After which, it returned in all of its auto-tuned glory. But because M won't let me go over there again and tell them they're keeping our fake baby awake, I now have to quietly seethe and fantasize about all the nasty notes I'm going to slip under their door the next time he travels. But i digress.
They do all sorts of other annoying neighborly things. For example, one morning I saw Jenny Bucktooth dragging a cardboard box the size of her spindly body down the hall to the trash room. The trash room that is approximately the size of the box she's dragging and has signs posted explicitly stating not to leave boxes inside. This actually doesn't bother me on a personal level, but i feel it's permissible evidence in the argument that they are inconsiderate and trashy (no pun intended) individuals.
Then there's this--we can hear them having very bad sex. And I don't mean maybe-we-should-call-the-police-because-someone-might-be-getting-hurt-sex. I mean the awkward kind. Your typical late-night bedroom antics are to be expected with most neighbors. You giggle and move on. This was the kind where you wonder, "Is this their first time? Are we being witness to the transaction of a v-card?" Unfortunately, 'tis not the case. It always sounds like something one would never want to do again. Luckily, it doesn't last long.
And here's the kicker. I was minding my own business on the treadmill the other day when I see out of the corner of my eye that the person to my left is periodically fist-pumping and letting out motivating grunts as if he's nearing the final bend of the New York marathon. Once i reestablished my stride, I looked over and realized he's Jenny Bucktooth's counterpart. I nearly flew off my machine in delight. It all makes sense. The bad playlist, the belabored boot-knocking, the general disregard for others. They're from NEW JERSEY! (and not the nice part where any of you come from.) We're living next door to people who may be known associates of the Jersey Shore cast. And that, my friends, changes everything.
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