My neighbours are off their faces, aggressive and violent, and taking it to the hall, the street, the hall. I am fed up with them. I am sick of their swearing and screaming. The smell of too much dope permeates my flat. Their crazy, unintelligent, unenlightened, hateful conversation is upsetting to me as is their yelling and fighting outside my door.
They are the only people in the world, oh yes, they are. Everything they do and say is of the most enormous import. Their jangling jarring conversation is most certainly the greatest ever uttered. They are certain of it and wish to share it. I do not wish to hear it. I do not wish to know they exist but they force their presence at me and I cower in my home which feels less haven than besieged tree house.
As they fight I can feel my tension rising. My body became taut and my ears ring and flinch at every word. And the awful sounds of a trashed man crying and hysterical punctuated by sarcastic applause. I wonder why I do nothing. I wonder why no-one does anything.
7 comments:
That's horrible. Home is supposed to be a safe place. Can you complain to a body corporate or real estate agent?
They go a long time between benders. Alas, tonight just happens to be the night. I was thinking police but I suspect that will just make my life difficult. If there's a body corporate I'm not aware of them and I doubt the real estate agent would give a fuck. Actually, knowing my real estate agent they'd put my rent up for the privilege of sharing space with these total losers.
Maybe they'll just kill each other as they've been threatening to do all night. One can hope.
I've done nothing before too, I guess for fear that my intervention might do more damage than it would solve (and do more damage to me, in particular). But gosh, how awful - it's infectious, this sort of domestic loathing. Hope for their sake that they go their separate ways and find peace.
They weren't a couple, Alexis. I mean, there is, as far as I can work out, a couple who lives there but they weren't the ones fighting. It was yonder bogan boy and a friend. And they were really, really trashed. One of the reasons I didn't call the cops was because I could smell the dope and felt that as a residential address none of us really needed the police involved/sniffing about. Given how agressive they were I'd hate to think what else they'd been taking.
Having said this, I gather that someone either did call the cops or complained to the real estate agent because the hot little real estate man did ask me if I was having any trouble with the neighbours.
Now that you mention it, weird that I'd assumed this was a malfunction in heterosexual romantic bliss.
As for winsome real estate agents: it's always the property managers, never the sales dude/sses. I have my property manager's business card in my wallet, just in case I ever need to tell her the flat's flooded. She's had her hair tinctured several shades of foxy and the camera's peering down her shirt. Because what's getting the front door knob sewn back on if not sexy?
I think a property with a sewn on door knob has more problems than can ever be fixed by foxy headed cleavage. I'm almost certain such things are a ploy to make one forget to raise issues with these charming lads and lasses. Three days later and I'm still having happy hotman-in-my-flat flashes - how's that for distracting..?
I have heard next door's version of malfunctioning heterosexual romantic bliss and it was quite similar to the events of Saturday night. The main difference was that instead of milk on the doorstep the next morning there was crying and grumpy teenaged girl clutching a mobile phone and with her worldly goods all tied up in a few pathetic plastic bags. I avoided her but rescued the seedlings that had been flung out of the window. I have priorities.
You don't sew doorknobs on? Gah! That explains everything.
I would have saved the seedlings too.
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