My first open letter

An open letter to my neighbors downstairs:

It’s Friday morning, about 4:15 am. I have been kept awake for something like two hours now by your noise. I know that having fun is important, and yolo and all that, but right now I can’t help but feel like my need to get up for work in a mere two hours, and my right to get plenty of sleep to do so in an unzombielike manner, might trump the importance of your very loud and long game of “slap the bag.”

I am not one to come and complain and request for quiet. I think you ladies have been very nice during our past interactions,  but right now you are drunk and you are with other drunks,  and I can’t help but think about the potentially awful response I might get from you even though I am not in the wrong. I am not in the mood to have a conflict with anyone right now. I tried knocking on my floor (the universal gesture that means “you are being too loud with your franzia bag for this neighbor who actually has shit to do in the morning. It’s not the weekend yet, you ogres.”) but you checked to see if someone had knocked on the door and then turned up your face-hole volume.

This has happened before. It is not a novel occurrence. You, I, and every other tenent in this building signed a lease, and in that lease is stated an 11 pm noise cutoff,  for the courtesy of others in the house. When you signed it,  that meant you were agreeing to this term,  yet you violate it again and again. There is a good reason our landlord includes this in the lease. I have violated it ONCE, on the weekend, when I had a gathering of folks for a soiree, but we were all out by 12:30 because we are adults with common decency. You must not realize that every other person in this building holds a full time,  M-F job (feel free to read that either as Monday through Friday or motherfucking.) Regardless, I would think it’s common sense to assume that most people are asleep at 4:30 on a Friday morning, and to put in an ounce of effort to control your volume level out of respect.

And now you and your friends are running in and out of the house, letting the door slam behind you. I wasn’t aware of this aspect of slap the bag. Maybe you play with different rules than I am aware of.

I keep trying to remind myself of a nugget of Dalai Lama wisdom, and that is to be grateful for one’s enemies,  because they allow us opportunity to practice patience. Simultaneously, I feel like stomping as hard and loud as I can and screaming very loudly at you, like a spoiled kid at the grocery store whose parent refuses to buy a sugary cereal.

I am considering and debating how I might approach you in the future about this problem. Respectfully, first of all, but that goes without saying. Should I call the landlord, tattling like that little grocery store kid would when her younger brother steals her favorite toy (in this scenario the favorite toy is my sleep), even though he is too young to know better? I am somewhat tempted to print out this letter and amonymously put it in your mail box. Those methods don’t seem so great,  because we know now thanks to the internet that anonymity=cowardice. The best option would be to approach you in your sober moments,  with compassion, simply asking some compassion in return. It will be uncomfortable, I will feel like and old lady, and despite how well it could go you might turn around and immediately bitch about the bitch upstairs who is trying to stifle your yolo status. I suppose if that is your attitude, I shouldn’t care.

Because I pay a lot of money for the privilege of living alone, a decision I made because of past roommates who rudely kept me up until this hour repeatedly, even after being repeatedly asked to turn down the surround sound for christ’s sake. Homegirl got a big girl job and you don’t have to get up at 7 am to deliver your damn (albeit delicious) Jimmy sandwiches.

Oh… it’s finally quiet. I better stop complaining to the internet and catch an hour or so worth of zzzz’s. We’ll get this worked out soon.

Sincerely (pissed off),
Your neighbor downstairs

P.S. I am trying to not hate you, ok?

Also, with this post I realize I read Thought Catalog way too much.

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