Neighbors of Pure Evil
That which does not kill us only makes us more unstable and pissed off. -- Halcyon
It first happened a few months ago. In bed, asleep, as I commonly am at 3 a.m. on a weeknight, I was awakened to the sound of shouting. Not angry beating-the-wife shouting, but more like hollering. And hooting. Hooting and hollering. That was what woke me up that night.
"The neighbors," I thought. "They must be having some sort of party." I decided to try and ignore it. I don't care if the occasional neighbor has the occasional party, even if it is on a weeknight. I pulled my blanket up over my head and tried to go back to sleep.
Being woken back up every 15 minutes or so by yet more shouting, they finally seemed to quiet down around 6 a.m. I got two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and went to work.
By the time I got home that night, I'd forgotten all about it. Crawling into bed around midnight, the usual hour of slumber for the Seans, no sooner did my head hit the pillow and my eyes did they close than I heard it: "Hoooooooooooooo-hooooooooo!!"
It was like a Mountain Dew commercial -- one of the old ones, where a bunch of hillbillies sat around staring slack-jawed at some old stump until delicious soda blasted up and out of it, extending a sugary, highly caffeinated arm toward the heavens, whereupon the hillbillies would release their joy with a rapturous "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh-hooooooooo!"
My eyes shot open and my fists clenched, each grabbing a handful of blanket, as I remembered last night and being woken up every 15 minutes.
"Stay calm," I thought. "Maybe tonight won't be as bad."
I lay there for maybe a half hour listening to the now non-stop shouting and laughing. It was then that I began to pay attention to what it was they were shouting. There were two voices:
"Oooooooooh man! You got me! I can't believe you got me!"
"I fell in a hole!"
"He's over there! He's over there!"
"Where's my grappling hook?"
They were playing video games.
Oh God. Now, being, how you Americans say, a big stupid geek myself, I've pulled a few all-nighters playing video games in my day. This, however, was in high school. And I've never felt the need to shout at the top of my lungs in an apartment building, much less do it constantly from midnight to 6 a.m.
"This is ridiculous," I said to myself, out loud, because I was by this point crazy. I threw on some clothes, slipped on some shoes without socks, went over there and knocked on the door.
"Someone's at the door," I heard a not-at-all-muffled voice say.
"You expecting anyone?"
"No."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
I heard the sound of one bolt being unlocked, and then another, and then two male faces peered around the slightly opened door to look at me.
THEY WERE LIKE 40 YEARS OLD.
I was very much taken by surprise, though now it made a little more sense as to why they were so loud. Men, it's been my observation, get really goddam loud as they get older. Nobody talks louder than an old man. They practically bark. I don't know why this is. I've always assumed it's because men, being humans, just get stupider as they get older. It's true, humans get stupider as they get older, I feel myself slipping more and more each day. Nobody's as smart as they are when they're an infant or a little kid, playing with legos all day with someone cleaning up after them. It don't get any better than that. Late childhood through the teenage years, computers and electronics are a snap. Now, in my 20s, I feel like I lose another valuable skill every day; what once was easy -- things like the ability to beat all six Megaman games made for Nintendo -- have become impossible. I shudder to think what the future holds. It's only a matter of time before I will have to hire a specialist to program the VCR for me to automatically tape syndicated Mad About You, or whatever inane old-person show it is I'll be into then.
One was tall, and bearded, and the other was shorter and pasty. I know this can't be right, but I seem to remember them looking exactly like the gay couple in But I'm a Cheerleader, though I have no reason to think they're gay. My mind is just not the most reliable source of information in the middle of the night.
The taller, bearded one seemed to be in charge, as he was looking at me inquisitively while the shorter one seemed to cower a bit. I assumed it was the bearded guy's apartment.
"Hey," I said, "could you guys keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."
"Ooooh," the bigger one said, with a pained look on his face as he loudly drew air in through his mouth, as though someone had just given him a shot. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," I said, and walked back to my apartment.
They kept it down the rest of the night, and the sleep was had, and all was good... until a few weeks later.
It'd been maybe two weeks, and I guess it was time once again for the bearded guy and the little guy to team up for an all-night frag fest because I again heard the shouting of phrases such as "You bitch!" "Ha ha, gotcha!" and "What were you shooting?" being shouted the duration of the entire graveyard shift. This time, however, due possibly to staying up later and/or drinkin', I managed to sleep through it.
It didn't stop though. A very short time after that -- Thursday night, to be exact -- it started again. The shouting. The hyena-like laughing. The apparently paper-thin walls in my goddam apartment building. Thursday night I put up with it. Friday night, I couldn't.
Friday night they got so incredibly goddam loud. Around three, it seemed like they were right in my bedroom with me, standing over my bed, shout shout shouting their damned taunts and exclamations as they played Quake or Half-Life or Unreal Tournament or whatever. "Heeeeeeeeeeee-hooooooooooo!" One of them (I don't know which) was extremely fond of the "Heeeeeeee-hooooooooo!" And finally I heard the "Heeeeee-hooooo" that broke the camel's back.
"...goddam ridiculous..." I probably muttered, though I'm not really sure. I don't remember anything before standing in front of their door, barefoot, waiting for them to answer.
"...at the door? You expecting anyone?"
"No. Who could it be?"
"I don't know..."
YEAH I WONDER WHO IT COULD BE. JESUS I JUST CAN'T FATHOM WHY ANYONE WOULD BE AT THE DOOR AFTER THREE HOURS OF SHOUTING IN AN APARTMENT BUILDING AT 3 A.M.
I heard the sounds of the bolts being undone, and then the little guy answered.
He didn't open the door all the way. I get the feeling he's shy. Middle-aged as well, he's short, balding, and a little pudgy.
"Hey," I said as soon as he opened the door, not waiting for him to say anything. "Could you guys not make so much noise?"
"We're not making any noise," he said, looking me straight in the eyes.
It's not so bad when people lie to you. But are few things more frustrating than when someone obviously thinks he's telling the truth, makes it clear that he won't be convinced otherwise, but is so horribly wrong that ... well he's just horribly wrong.
"You're... not making any noise," I repeated.
"We're not making any noise," he re-stated.
"Then how did you wake me up?"
He stammered and mumbled for a bit. I think he repeated the not-making-noise bit.
"Do you hear any noise?" I asked him.
"No."
I don't know where the bearded guy was during all this. I wished he would come intervene; I liked him better. Perhaps I had misjudged the little guy.
"Look," I said, "I can hear noise. A lot of noise."
He opened the door slightly wider to reveal a temporarily set-up PC running Unreal Tournament, and said "That's as loud as anything is."
I could hear the volume on the PC very faintly. It was, in fact, turned down. But it wasn't the PC I was complaining about.
"No," I said, "not the video games. You guys are making a lot of noise. Shouting, laughing..."
"Oh, yeah," he cut me off. "We laugh when we kill each other."
"Could you please just be quiet?" I asked. He was already closing the door.
"Yeah we'll try," he said, and pushed the door completely shut.
I hate him.
It was quiet the rest of the night. I could still hear them, but they didn't wake me up. The next night the bearded guy was back to his regular routine of watching TV at top volume with his door open, so I can only assume that the little guy packed up his computer and went home.
If it happens again, I'm cutting to the chase: The apartment manager. She is a tough-as-nails old lady who takes crap from no one. She frightens even me. Of course, there's no way I'm waking her up in the middle of the night, but come the next morning... hoo-hee, the bearded guy and the little guy will pay the piper for all their hooting and their hollering. Yeah, sure, I may be "tattling," but when I'm ratting out my middle-aged video game-junkie neighbors who deny making any noise like they're children, I think I'm still the mature one here.
"The neighbors," I thought. "They must be having some sort of party." I decided to try and ignore it. I don't care if the occasional neighbor has the occasional party, even if it is on a weeknight. I pulled my blanket up over my head and tried to go back to sleep.
Being woken back up every 15 minutes or so by yet more shouting, they finally seemed to quiet down around 6 a.m. I got two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and went to work.
By the time I got home that night, I'd forgotten all about it. Crawling into bed around midnight, the usual hour of slumber for the Seans, no sooner did my head hit the pillow and my eyes did they close than I heard it: "Hoooooooooooooo-hooooooooo!!"
It was like a Mountain Dew commercial -- one of the old ones, where a bunch of hillbillies sat around staring slack-jawed at some old stump until delicious soda blasted up and out of it, extending a sugary, highly caffeinated arm toward the heavens, whereupon the hillbillies would release their joy with a rapturous "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh-hooooooooo!"
My eyes shot open and my fists clenched, each grabbing a handful of blanket, as I remembered last night and being woken up every 15 minutes.
"Stay calm," I thought. "Maybe tonight won't be as bad."
I lay there for maybe a half hour listening to the now non-stop shouting and laughing. It was then that I began to pay attention to what it was they were shouting. There were two voices:
"Oooooooooh man! You got me! I can't believe you got me!"
"I fell in a hole!"
"He's over there! He's over there!"
"Where's my grappling hook?"
They were playing video games.
Oh God. Now, being, how you Americans say, a big stupid geek myself, I've pulled a few all-nighters playing video games in my day. This, however, was in high school. And I've never felt the need to shout at the top of my lungs in an apartment building, much less do it constantly from midnight to 6 a.m.
"This is ridiculous," I said to myself, out loud, because I was by this point crazy. I threw on some clothes, slipped on some shoes without socks, went over there and knocked on the door.
"Someone's at the door," I heard a not-at-all-muffled voice say.
"You expecting anyone?"
"No."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
I heard the sound of one bolt being unlocked, and then another, and then two male faces peered around the slightly opened door to look at me.
THEY WERE LIKE 40 YEARS OLD.
I was very much taken by surprise, though now it made a little more sense as to why they were so loud. Men, it's been my observation, get really goddam loud as they get older. Nobody talks louder than an old man. They practically bark. I don't know why this is. I've always assumed it's because men, being humans, just get stupider as they get older. It's true, humans get stupider as they get older, I feel myself slipping more and more each day. Nobody's as smart as they are when they're an infant or a little kid, playing with legos all day with someone cleaning up after them. It don't get any better than that. Late childhood through the teenage years, computers and electronics are a snap. Now, in my 20s, I feel like I lose another valuable skill every day; what once was easy -- things like the ability to beat all six Megaman games made for Nintendo -- have become impossible. I shudder to think what the future holds. It's only a matter of time before I will have to hire a specialist to program the VCR for me to automatically tape syndicated Mad About You, or whatever inane old-person show it is I'll be into then.
One was tall, and bearded, and the other was shorter and pasty. I know this can't be right, but I seem to remember them looking exactly like the gay couple in But I'm a Cheerleader, though I have no reason to think they're gay. My mind is just not the most reliable source of information in the middle of the night.
The taller, bearded one seemed to be in charge, as he was looking at me inquisitively while the shorter one seemed to cower a bit. I assumed it was the bearded guy's apartment.
"Hey," I said, "could you guys keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."
"Ooooh," the bigger one said, with a pained look on his face as he loudly drew air in through his mouth, as though someone had just given him a shot. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," I said, and walked back to my apartment.
They kept it down the rest of the night, and the sleep was had, and all was good... until a few weeks later.
It'd been maybe two weeks, and I guess it was time once again for the bearded guy and the little guy to team up for an all-night frag fest because I again heard the shouting of phrases such as "You bitch!" "Ha ha, gotcha!" and "What were you shooting?" being shouted the duration of the entire graveyard shift. This time, however, due possibly to staying up later and/or drinkin', I managed to sleep through it.
It didn't stop though. A very short time after that -- Thursday night, to be exact -- it started again. The shouting. The hyena-like laughing. The apparently paper-thin walls in my goddam apartment building. Thursday night I put up with it. Friday night, I couldn't.
Friday night they got so incredibly goddam loud. Around three, it seemed like they were right in my bedroom with me, standing over my bed, shout shout shouting their damned taunts and exclamations as they played Quake or Half-Life or Unreal Tournament or whatever. "Heeeeeeeeeeee-hooooooooooo!" One of them (I don't know which) was extremely fond of the "Heeeeeeee-hooooooooo!" And finally I heard the "Heeeeee-hooooo" that broke the camel's back.
"...goddam ridiculous..." I probably muttered, though I'm not really sure. I don't remember anything before standing in front of their door, barefoot, waiting for them to answer.
"...at the door? You expecting anyone?"
"No. Who could it be?"
"I don't know..."
YEAH I WONDER WHO IT COULD BE. JESUS I JUST CAN'T FATHOM WHY ANYONE WOULD BE AT THE DOOR AFTER THREE HOURS OF SHOUTING IN AN APARTMENT BUILDING AT 3 A.M.
I heard the sounds of the bolts being undone, and then the little guy answered.
He didn't open the door all the way. I get the feeling he's shy. Middle-aged as well, he's short, balding, and a little pudgy.
"Hey," I said as soon as he opened the door, not waiting for him to say anything. "Could you guys not make so much noise?"
"We're not making any noise," he said, looking me straight in the eyes.
It's not so bad when people lie to you. But are few things more frustrating than when someone obviously thinks he's telling the truth, makes it clear that he won't be convinced otherwise, but is so horribly wrong that ... well he's just horribly wrong.
"You're... not making any noise," I repeated.
"We're not making any noise," he re-stated.
"Then how did you wake me up?"
He stammered and mumbled for a bit. I think he repeated the not-making-noise bit.
"Do you hear any noise?" I asked him.
"No."
I don't know where the bearded guy was during all this. I wished he would come intervene; I liked him better. Perhaps I had misjudged the little guy.
"Look," I said, "I can hear noise. A lot of noise."
He opened the door slightly wider to reveal a temporarily set-up PC running Unreal Tournament, and said "That's as loud as anything is."
I could hear the volume on the PC very faintly. It was, in fact, turned down. But it wasn't the PC I was complaining about.
"No," I said, "not the video games. You guys are making a lot of noise. Shouting, laughing..."
"Oh, yeah," he cut me off. "We laugh when we kill each other."
"Could you please just be quiet?" I asked. He was already closing the door.
"Yeah we'll try," he said, and pushed the door completely shut.
I hate him.
It was quiet the rest of the night. I could still hear them, but they didn't wake me up. The next night the bearded guy was back to his regular routine of watching TV at top volume with his door open, so I can only assume that the little guy packed up his computer and went home.
If it happens again, I'm cutting to the chase: The apartment manager. She is a tough-as-nails old lady who takes crap from no one. She frightens even me. Of course, there's no way I'm waking her up in the middle of the night, but come the next morning... hoo-hee, the bearded guy and the little guy will pay the piper for all their hooting and their hollering. Yeah, sure, I may be "tattling," but when I'm ratting out my middle-aged video game-junkie neighbors who deny making any noise like they're children, I think I'm still the mature one here.