Saturday, October 15, 2011

Maximum Anxiety

We have this neighbor that we could do without. Rumor has it that he's supposed to graduate by the end of this semester, but how remains a mystery to me...unless his professors aren't particularly demanding. I mean, he's too stupid to have gotten far in life.

The reason I say this is that he's been told numerous times to lower the volume on his stereo. Becky has told him. The landlords have told him. The POLICE have told him. Today, even I hobbled to his apartment and told him, using quite a bit of my native New York vernacular, to lower the damn stereo. Yet even as I type this, I can hear the thump, thump, thump of the bass through the wall.

I would ask how stupid one person can be, but I've been reading entirely too many examples online. Just go to Failbook or Not Always Right and you can see prime examples of idiocy in action. Like this marvelous attempt at parenting. Then there's this genius who decided to release her hamster "back into the wild."

This is the one truly bad part about my personality. I have an extremely low tolerance for stupidity. You could even ask Becky, if you were so inclined. I have a seemingly infinite well of patience. But when it comes to someone being stupid, that patience dries up faster than a cup of water spilled onto a blacktop in 120 degree heat.

Like the week Becky and I were getting to know one another face-to-face. We paid a visit to a nearby McDonald's, and I ordered chicken nuggets. With these small masses of mystery meat, I asked for honey mustard sauce. Now I know that having a PhD isn't required to work at a fast food joint, but if you don't know what a customer is asking for, ask someone else. The girl working the drive-thru couldn't grasp the idea that there was a specific sauce called "honey mustard." Instead, she decided to improvise and gave me separate packets of honey and mustard, probably expecting me to mix it on my own. I almost lost my mind over this relatively simple thing.

Yes...I lost my temper over honey mustard sauce.

I have tried to keep this particular beast under wraps. I believe I'm ugly enough without letting rage distort my features. (Becky's gonna give me a talking to for that little comment.) And today, I'm pretty sure I didn't make myself all that attractive to any member of the human race.

I'm sitting here at my computer, and the television is right next to me. I have a movie playing, as is my old habit from when I lived alone in AZ. A movie playing sets up the illusion of there being other people around, specifically when Becky is off at school or work. The volume on my TV is not all that low, yet it remains at a respectable level so as not to disturb my neighbors.

Would that the same could be said of them.

I was sitting here, and through the wall comes that damnable thumping of a bass line. Since I'm not about to run around the world for any specific reason, I chose to pound of the wall. This received no response whatsoever. The thumping through the wall continued.

Thus, I hobbled around to the front of the house, up the short, uneven set of stairs, located the apartment with the loud music with ease, and pounded as loud as possible on the door. My actions freaked the guy out. With his own colorful words, he answered the door and I laid into him verbally. I didn't give him much time to respond, and I was still mutter as I walked away about his level of ass-hattery. He must have heard something else, since he was asking, "What did you just say?!?"

I kept walking.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was starting to suffer an anxiety attack. I don't like confrontations, and when pushed enough to become angry, the anxiety level rises exponentially. Frankly, I couldn't take a half a Valium fast enough.

Whatever the idiot thought he heard, he felt it was enough reason to not lower his music. So now I did that which the landlord instructed me to do: I called the cops. No, I didn't dial 911. That's for emergencies. I called the non-emergency line to file my complaint.

Within about 10 minutes, the cops arrived, and I received a call from their communication department to let them in through the locked front door. I then returned to my apartment, looking forward to the peace I should then have...

...and the little punk decided to ignore the cops warning to lower the music.

I gave up. With the Valium kicking in, I decided to do my best to ignore the noise. It helps when my mind suddenly has difficulty focusing. In fact...this is the end of the post. My brain is drifting, so...Be well, and DFTBA!

1 comment:

Mutant said...

I can only hope the cops do something other than say "pretty please". The guy should either get headphones or get a brain and lower the volume. Both would probably be good for him.