The folks upstairs...

This past June I began my search for the most perfect place to call home sweet home, or at least to call my home for the period for which the lease would cover. Although I live in the capitol city, options are limited when it comes to finding a place to live that is a)reasonably priced b)in a safe area and c)available. The search lasted a few weeks as I arranged appointment after appointment to view properties, dragging my friend Bry along to kill any of the creepy guys that were showing me their places, only to find that all of these places were either overpriced, falling off a hill, older than my grandmother, or in the ghetto. Finally, I found a complex that had some potential. It was within the price range that I was searching, was built after my mother was born, had plenty of parking, free cable, and best of all, it had a pool, which mid-summer was really the selling point for me. As I toured an open apartment, I asked various questions, most of which the property manager obviously thought were strange, or so her face seemed to reveal.

The most important question in my eyes that I asked was regarding the neighbors in my building. Don't get me wrong, I have never had issues with neighbors before. I lived across the street from frat boys, so I can deal with drunken shenanigans. I lived next door to a mouse basically, so I can keep myself quiet if necessary. Her response was that I would be living in a building with two guys in college (sweet - can we say beer pong??), a doctor that travels a lot (perfect, he will either not bother me or can become my sugar daddy), and a girl about my age (maybe I can have a friend). I went home and weighed out the pros and cons of this complex for about a day then called Tami to let her know that I was ready to sign a lease. We scheduled an appointment to sign the paperwork and I was pumped... until I arrived and she said "I meant to tell you that we actually filled the apartment that I showed you, but we have one just like it in the building next door." I was still on my high from making my decision that I signed away the next year of my life, wrote a check and asked for the keys. I didn't think until I got to my car and had given her $700 to ask about the new neighbors. Eh, they can't be that bad can they?

On move in day, I look at the door across from mine and see a name plate, under which a post-it note reads "KNOCK HARD." It should have read "Bang my door down because not only am I a 90 year old lady with hearing problems but I also turn my TV up to full volume 24 hours a day." I saw the opportunity for me to have parties and have no complaint from her since she couldn't hear, so I settled that I could deal with hearing her TV shows under those circumstances. It turns out that she is actually a very nice lady as well. She came over and met me and told me her name (which was either Mary or Nancy, but since I can't remember, I refer to her as Mary-Nancy) and that if I ever needed anything to let her know.

It took several days before I met anyone else in my building. I keep odd hours so I rarely see anyone so I didn't find it that odd that I had yet to meet my two other neighbors. Finally, I ran into the Indian couple that lives upstairs. I knew before I had met them that they were going to be middle eastern because our hallways reek of curry all the time. Now, I should preface this by saying that I love middle eastern food. I do not, however, wish to have my apartment (or myself) smell like that shit. For some reason, it is a complete turn off and I need as much help as I can get when it comes to dudes. None the less, I was glad to put faces (ones that speak broken English) to the smell.

Weeks went by and I had never seen anyone else come or go from the apartment complex. Having met 2/3 households from my building, I was growing anxious to discover who else lived up there. I knew someone lived above me because they are by far the loudest individuals that I have ever met. Every night around 10 pm I begin to hear rustling upstairs. Above my bedroom there is a pitter patter of feet... for hours... and hours... and hours. I cannot figure out what they do up there. Do they run in place? They certainly aren't doing the dirty, unless they know some sort of strange position that involves nonstop walking. Although I said I could deal with loud people, this is slightly different. I can drown out music, I cannot drown out the noise upstairs or my curiosity as to what is going on. After a month of this night after night, I tried sleeping on the couch, but that was even worse. Apparently above that room they practice body slamming and tribal dances because it sounds like my ceiling is going to fall through until 5 am. Now, five months later, I have still yet to determine who it is that lives above me and what the hell they are doing. I anyone knows the folks upstairs, let them know that I am curious... oh and that I would like them to settle the fuck down between 11pm and 6am. Thanks.