I don’t like my upstairs neighbours. I don’t want to be friends with them. I’m sick of listening to the goings-on in their lives at all hours of the morning and night.
I hung out with one of them once and she actually seemed pretty cool. And every time I’ve talked to the other one he’s been really nice. But I still don’t want to be friends with them. I imagine that if we all were to become friendly they would worry less about whether or not they were disturbing us and I would feel less comfortable complaining about their noise. As it stands now, I can be the grumpy bitch downstairs. I’m okay with being that neighbour.
Perhaps I’d feel more inclined to be their friend if they had better taste in music. Perhaps I’d be less annoyed if I woke up in the middle of the night to the sweet sounds of Neko Case, or some rockin tunes from the Stones. The previous neighbours sometimes woke me up with Simon and Garfunkel, which would then promptly lull me back to sleep. But waking up as frequently as I do to thumping techno is the most annoying thing in the world. It’s not even good techno — it’s that shitty trance that one can only listen to every day if one does a lot of drugs. That may sound judgemental, but it’s a judgement that direct experience, both my own and that of the people I know, has taught me is probably true. If I had to listen to techno all day every day I would want to shove a screwdriver through my skull. There’s a time and a place for techno. Throw me into a club or a party on a Saturday night, put on some good techno, and I will contentedly dance all night. The only other appropriate places may be in the car every now and again or during a workout. Not at 7 in the morning when you’re getting ready for work. Not in the middle of the afternoon when you’re gardening or doing housework. And not at 2 o’clock on Monday morning when your downstairs neighbours are asleep. Last night, it was so loud that it woke me up. It came through my bedroom as clear as crystal. I could hear the conversation they were having over the music in great detail because they had to shout to hear each other. When I finally went upstairs in a daze in my pajamas they didn’t even hear me knocking on their door because the music was too loud. I couldn’t believe how sheepishly he looked at me when he finally opened the door. “Is the music too loud?” Are you retarded buddy? You can’t even hear yourself speak. What makes you think it’s not too loud? We don’t even play our music that loud in the middle of the day. We don’t even play our music that loud on the rare occasions when we have parties.
That is just one reason why I don’t want to be friends with my upstairs neighbours.
