I must preface, that I have lived in NYC for 12 years and I
understand noise and apartment living; it is a fact of life with
box-attached-to-box urban dwelling and I happen to love it.
A few months ago, we received a new neighbor upstairs. I can only assume it’s one woman and her child
(of whom I immediately empathized with single motherhood) living in the same
square footage of our larger than average Harlem three-bedroom.
Several mornings passed, every other day in recent weeks
(probably a Christmas gift), where I’ve been kept up from noise starting at
5:45am until about 11am. So instead of
writing a passive aggressive letter or banging on the walls, I decided to do
what I believed an adult should- wait until a decent hour, knock on their door,
introduce myself, and have a sensible conversation about how we can help each
other co-habitate. No plan, no agenda,
no advice, no “shut the eff up”s- but a conversation.
Attempt #1: I rang the doorbell and I heard the child
clawing for the door and calling out “mama!”
No one opened the door after two attempts at ringing the door bell. Even though she spied through the peephole a
few time and pried her child from the door, I assumed she wasn’t ready to take
in a visitor. I, too, sometimes have
troubles finding my best dressing robe to take on early morning visitors. Still I was not leaving her a note- I’m no
longer in college. We are both of child
bearing age….oy.
Attempt #2: At a more
reasonable 6pm hour the next day- SHE
WAS NOT HAVING ME! As if the three
knocks on her door and a doorbell ring had eliminated dozens of hours of sleep
from HER life. I have never seen her
face, as she never opened the door, and chose to say, “it’s must be my 2 year
old. He’s playing.” I bit my tongue and
my “duh” and asked if we could talk about just that. She declined.
That’s where I left it. I decided
it was time to call the landlord and asked if carpeting would be an option or
at least a mediated conversation.
I thought to myself, “Kelvin, a mediated conversation? Facilitated by our landlord? I have a better
chance at winning the lottery.” I
promptly made that phone call and went to buy a scratch off ticket. I won that dollar back but I doubt the same
for the ten minutes on the phone with the landlord’s secretary.
Now, here’s HER letter she taped to OUR door the next
day:
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A. Whose Colin, Ms. 2A? Did you hear my name wrong or are you the
one hoarding my roommate’s subscription of New York Magazine? That’s my job!
B. All of my issues?
I don’t think they want to know about my recent battle with gout and
minor seasonal depression. I don’t think
they want to hear about my lack of ability to finish anything due to adult ADHD
and fear of commitment and sobriety. I
don’t think they want to hear about my hot pink comfort item, a Hot Topic tutu. So, maybe I’ll just address the one issue-
this ONE sound that comes her apartment.
==================
Dear Management:
I would like to report an environmental complaint. I hesitate to call it a noise complaint
because I have not been sensitive to noise while living in this apartment for
the past four years. The reality is when
I accepted the lease to this apartment in Harlem, on the first floor, I agreed
to a social contract with the denizens of 10026. I can accept the midnight brawls and breakups
outside my window, siren and dumpster trucks, the usage of my air conditioner
as a convenient coaster for Four Loco and the teeniest bottles of Barcadi. I can accept watching the TV mounted to our
wall as you pass my window on the street and cheering along to American Idol
with me on the couch.
Prepared I was to deal with the first three years of my
upstairs neighbors having a French bull dog who used the hallway as his own
personal dog run. I welcome the idea
that my new neighbor has laid a similar track for her 2 year-old Olympic
sprinter in training. Go Team USA!!!
I have no complaints of parenting. I’m not going to complain about parenting a
two year old; not the crying, not the running, not the yelling after a child-
this is a fact of life and uncontrollable.
Again this is “noise” and I accept her child’s wails as they have
graciously accepted my wails a.k.a. my personal weekly Youtube Broadway Karaoke
Hour.
No, this complaint is environmental. No set of earplugs or sleep machine is a
solution for the physical vibration that happens repeatedly over a 4 by 7 patch
of space that exists 10 feet above the headboard of my bed. Pulling my bed away from the wall has not
dampened the early morning rolling thunder that has prevented my sleep.
I understand not coming to the door, as I am a stranger, but
we have connected before in the building as we have checked our mailboxes
located next to each other while exchanging pleasantries. I have reached out twice, with no avail, to
my neighbor to inquire what this new contraption is. She has asked me to contact you and I do so
with a certain amount of trepidation and suspicion as she refuses to speak with
me eye to eye. I speculate that she
either:
a. Installed a
Bowling Alley for Babies. As this issue
has only arisen for the past 56 days, I can assume it was an unwise Christmas
gift. There, I can fault a distant
relative who is a glutton for other people’s misery. I’ll gladly supply the $100 gift card to Toy
R’ Us for a replacement anything.
b. Has a case of OCD
and owns a Dyson’s Super Ultra Megatron Vacuum cleaner that she uses to
maintain this aforementioned four by seven foot of space. Three words: Replaceable Carpet Squares. I’ve seen them on Love it or List it!
c. Inherited Gutenberg’s
Printing Press. And hopefully she is
foiling local thieves and resolving the building’s ongoing Sunday Times
burglaries by making copies free for all one thousand tenants. Awesomesauce! You’re Printin’ Hood. Get it?!
d. Installed an
exercise rower for herself. But by the
frequency of this activity and the unchanging weight of her own footsteps, this
seems like the least probable answer. But if so, good on you, gurl! But I have an extra order of Pad Thai, Seamless on speed dial, and an extra spot on the couch to watch The Biggest Loser- let it go....enjoy some mommy, binge eating and vino with the new neighbor time. On me!
Thank you for your attention to this matter. I know this may not be anywhere near the top
of your priority list but I feel as if there have been enough suicide attempts
off the Brooklyn Bridge in 2014. I’m not
the splashy type. Hah!
I apologize for the drama.
You don’t know me, but alas, I would never go to Brooklyn. My next serious course of action is to file for
joint custody with Ms. 2A.
Sincerely,
Mme. 1A, Mr. 1A, & Miss 1A.
(Kelvin, Colin & Enrico respectively)
=================
PS- Since unspecified, I have forwarded this letter to both the
management of our building and the management of life in NYC, the NYPD (via
311, of course). I was confused to which
“management” she was talking about; or is it because- nope nope, it’s because I’m
a dick and I want my life back.
PSS- I have also attached a thank you note for imposing
hours and hours of catching up with my writing.
Even if it has been at the heinous hour of before-noon-o’clock.
PSSS- Seriously, we have filed a formal complaint to the
landlords and next will be the police.
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