You might surmise that it did not take me long to set my room up. By which I mean I took my clothes out of my dufflebag and piled them on the floor of my closet. The bed was all set up and I had 2 milk crates beside it to put my my clock and a couple of books on. The room was actually pretty big and had a semi-ensuite to the bathroom, a large window overlooking the empty sidelot, and a ceiling fan that looked like it came of a W.W.2 aeroplane. I was later reminded that the upstairs unit has the exact same layout, except that they had an extra bedroom.
I guess I'd been in for two weeks or so when I noticed that McLandlord had started showing the upstairs apartment. It didn't take a whole lot of investigation to figure it out because the sound proofing was... kinda crappy. However, I assumed that I was just being picky and that I should try and ignore it.
I can't remember if it was later that month or the next but a nice family of 4 that had viewed the apartment moved in. They seemed like good, down-to-earth people. I helped the father move in some of the heavy stuff to start a neighbourly bond. He let me put my barbeque on his deck and we would take turns buying the propane. We'd even have a couple beers after work on Fridays. We generally we got along really great and I considered myself lucky to get along with my neighbours. Except... the sound proofing.
I guess I'd been in for two weeks or so when I noticed that McLandlord had started showing the upstairs apartment. It didn't take a whole lot of investigation to figure it out because the sound proofing was... kinda crappy. However, I assumed that I was just being picky and that I should try and ignore it.
I can't remember if it was later that month or the next but a nice family of 4 that had viewed the apartment moved in. They seemed like good, down-to-earth people. I helped the father move in some of the heavy stuff to start a neighbourly bond. He let me put my barbeque on his deck and we would take turns buying the propane. We'd even have a couple beers after work on Fridays. We generally we got along really great and I considered myself lucky to get along with my neighbours. Except... the sound proofing.
I didn't mind the stomping around (they were a little overweight) or even that the TV always had Ellen or Oprah on just a little too loud. What I did mind was the 45 minute long crazy-arguing and shouting that always ended in a rousing make-up-sex marathon that lasted for (what seemed like) hours!
Let me tell you, it doesn't matter how loud you turn up the radio or TV; when that ceiling fan, 6 feet from your head started swaying to the Barry White... let's just say I really appreciated the semi en-suite for the quick access to the toilet.
What to do? I was too embarrassed to confront them about it. I couldn't turn my radio up any louder (which I already knew could not contend with the sexing). I did what I thought was a perfect course of action: I'd call McLandlord. He'd know what to do.
"Umm... sorry to b-bug you, McLandlord, but I can listen to the folks upstairs have sex. Sometimes for hours."
"Aaughh!" he coughed with disgust. "Sweet Jesus, me ladd! Have ya no shame? By Christ, let the lass av at er husband in peace!"
"But, but that's not what I..."
"Stop right thare, I know whach yar gettin at, an let me tell ya right new, she's no interest in a skinny limey like yew." Click.
Well if things weren't bad enough, McLandlord thinks I'm some sort of British pervert. I'm not British! (oh, or a pervert) Eventually, I was driven out of my sweet master bedroom with a view and semi en-suite and re-setup in the smaller, closetless second bedroom which had a window facing the parking lot so that when anyone came home late, their headlights would shine right into my face. Love thy neighbour anyone?
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