About four months ago a young couple moved into the apartment next door. My first introduction to them was when, upon their first night here, I heard a loud shriek, bang, smash… followed by more shrieking. I opened my door to find the female half of the equation hopping up and down with a broom, carrying on like a banshee, over a bug.
“Great,” I thought, “This is going to be great.”
They haven’t let me down.
They’re loud, they have people over almost every weekend, and they never close their windows, so you can hear every blessed moment…
But it occurred to me tonight as they came thundering and laughing through the courtyard on the way to their front door, that the real reason they bother me so much is that they’re having a blast and I’m sitting at my computer, or eating dinner in front of my TV, or watching Die Hard for the umpteenth time… It’s not that they’re abnormally intrusive, but that I’m abnormally monk-ish.
And I’m tired of it.
I’ve never been particularly party-rific, but I think it’s time that this girl got out and about a little more…
Maybe if I was having a little more fun, I wouldn’t begrudge my noisy neighbors theirs.
BOOMBOX PLAGUE
Here’s how to end the noisy boombox plague:
Ask some poor wretch if he’d like to have a ten- or twenty-dollar bill. If his answer is Yes, tell him about your noisy boombox neighbor and then say:
“The money is yours if you can figure out something so I won’t have to hear that guy’s boombox again. Don’t kill him or beat him up. But do whatever you have to do to silence that Hollywoodized lowlife!”
Believe me, this is VERY effective. Heard of the VAB’s? They’re the “Vigilantes Against Boomboxes.” Or you can start your own vigilante group.
Reactions, anyone?
[from Karl’s Kastle in Mitchell County, Kansas]