January 7, 2011

Fact Is Better: Your Gentleman Caller

It's no secret that apartment living comes with it's quirk.  Like listening to your downstairs neighbors have boring, mono-syllabic sex at 8a.m. every Sunday morning.  Or, dealing with other neighbors pets.  The new lady that had moved upstairs had a three year old and a dog.  Both of which liked to pound on the floor and bark throughout the day.  For one whole week, I had to listen to the kid screeching and the dog howling; the kid body-slamming the floor and the dog stampeding through the house between the hours of 12am and 3am.

Finally, after one whole week of that, I wrote a note that said, "By now, I'm sure you've realized that the walls in this apartment are paper thin.   As a result, we all do the best we can to be as courteous and respectful to one another as possible.  With that being said, it's unnacceptable to have your kid and dog screeching between the hours of 12am and 3am.  Thank you for your cooperation."

The noise stopped, but I began to notice that the angry, bird-faced woman began having her dog pee around my car.  I didn't say anything - hoping that she wasn't really doing that - until one day, I stepped in a slushy pile of yellow snow.  The very next day, New Years Eve, The Photographer got out of the car and stepped in an enormous pile of dog poop. 

I wrote another note and stuck it her door.  It said, "Please pick up after your dog.  Thanks for your cooperation!"  She promptly came down and knocked on the door for about thirty seconds (remember that detail), but we refused to answer it as we were celebrating our New Years together - in pajamas, on our computers, because we're cool like that.

A couple days later, I was getting ready to head out to my Mom's for the day.  I noticed these giant orange stains throughout the hallway as I was leaving the apartment building and wondered what it was.  I opened the door to the driveaway, and wouldn't you know, the bird-faced drama queen from upstairs was standing there with her dog.  I smiled politely, excused myself past her and headed to my car.  I crossed the parking lot, unlocked the car and just as I was opening the door, the following conversation ensued:

The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "You know, when someone knocks on your door, the polite thing to do is to answer the door!"
Me: *faking complete ignorance* "Oh. I didn't hear a knock on the door."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Well, I knocked."
Me: "Guess I was in the bathroom."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Um, I knocked for like FIVE WHOLE MINUTES." *her voice began to get shrill*
Me: *shrug* "Like, I said, didn't hear it."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Well, your GENTLEMAN CALLER COULD'VE ANSWERED!!!" *her voice now full-blown shrilly and screeching at me*
Me: *spins around, seething* "My BOYFRIEND isn't going to answer the door when he DOESN'T KNOW WHO IT IS."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Well, whatever, that's not my dog poop."
Me: "Okay. Well, sorry I assumed it was. As you can imagine, when your dog is the ONLY ONE that urinates in the driveway, I have the right to then believe it's also the one pooping there."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Well, it wasn't my dog poop. You know, there are OTHER DOGS IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD!" *screeching still*
Me: "Right, and none of them in the THREE YEARS I've lived here have walked over to my part of the driveway and pooped."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "IT'S MY HOME, TOO, YOU KNOW!"
Me: "Okay."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "Yes, he poops, he's a dog. AND OKAY - sometimes I don't have on the proper attire to pick up the poop right away, but I ALWAYS GO AND CHANGE AND COME BACK AND GET THE POOP."
Me: "Okay."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "I FEEL LIKE YOU'RE ATTACKING ME BECAUSE I HAVE A DOG!" *she literally stamps her foot and her shrilly, screechy voice begins to have an edge of whining in it*
Me: "Wow, lady, I'm not attacking you, but when your dog is the only one . . ."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "IT'S NOT MY DOG POOP!"
Me: *I finally snap - I can't handle whining, drama queens yelling at me* "FINE, BUT WHEN YOUR DOG IS STAMPEDING THROUGH THE APARTMENT BETWEEN 12AM and 3AM BARKING AND SLAMMING SO HARD ON THE FLOOR IT KNOCKS PICTURES OFF MY WALLS THEN YES - I FEEL I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY SOMETHING."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: " . . . well, it's not my dog poop."
Me: " . . . wow, okay. Listen, I'm a really nice . . ."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "I'M A REALLY NICE PERSON." *full blown screeching whine*
*awkward pause*
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs "It's not my dog poop."
Me: "Noted."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "AND I ASSUME YOU THINK IT'S MY FAULT THAT THERE'S COFFEE SPILT ALL OVER THE STAIRS."
Me: "Well, I had no idea what the stain was, but seeing as YOU DO, yes, now I'm going to blame you."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "The next time you have an issue with me, have the human decency to talk to my face."
Me: "The next time your dog craps in . . ."
The Bird-Faced, Drama Queen from Upstairs: "IT'S NOT MY DOG P . . ."
*I stop listening, get into my car and driveaway while she's still standing there throwing her temper-tantrum.*

True story.

And further proof fact is better - and oh, so much more dramatic - than fiction.