An Open Message to the Guy Who Lives Above Us…

Dear Guy Who Lives Above Us,

You don’t know me, but I live in the apartment below you.  I probably know you better than you think.  I know about the atrocious sleep schedule you keep, I know that you don’t work very much if at all, I know that you like to move furniture around at all times of the day and night, I know that you like Good Morning America (I can hear you watching it every morning), I know that you sometimes dance all by yourself (mostly late at night), I know that you have very, very loud and obnoxious friends, and I know that you enjoy Wyclef Jean.  Cool.  So do I.  Particularly, I love his rendition of “No Woman, No Cry.”  Here’s the thing though, Guy Who Lives Above Us, I don’t really enjoy Wyclef Jean at three in the morning…on a Sunday.

It’s not like you don’t know that you’re noisy.  Multiple neighbors have filed complaints about you, including the elderly woman who lives above you. Then, the night when Hurricane Sandy hit New York, you really outdid yourself.  You had a party that lasted all day and all night.  Some part of you decided it was a grand idea to have this massive party at your place in Brooklyn.  You must have said, “Hey guys!  Party at my digs!  My neighbors won’t mind!!!”  Just curious, what made you think that was a good idea?

Maybe you thought that it didn’t matter, because most of New York was shut down and didn’t have to work.  I get it.  I didn’t have to work, but guess what?  Other people did have to work, including my husband.  Yes, he still had to report to the hospital by 7 AM, even though your party didn’t stop until 5 AM.  And by that time, he was already up for work.

Not cool, Guy Who Lives Above Us, not cool.

I’m not really sure where we go from here, but I’m just going to put this out there:  The next time I get the urge to sing Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” or “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs, I’m going to do it.  Yeah, I just may belt one of those suckers out, and make you listen to me.  Then again, I may sing a song with notes I can’t hit, notes that make me screech, and make you listen to me try.

So there.

The moral of this story, Guy Who Lives Above Us, is that sometimes your poor decisions make me go…

Seriously.

We’re pretty nice people (The People Who Live in the Apartment Downstairs), and hey, we’re just trying to get some sleep.  So, can you please just shut the f*ck up.  Please?

Thanks.

Sincerely,

The Girl in the Apartment Downstairs

P.S. Does anyone else have noisy neighbors?

~The End

Photo by Anne Taintor