I'm trying to use the phone!

I'm well aware that living in an apartment building is a total crap shoot.  I'm not even going to bore you with the details of how dreadful the first of September is when you live in a college town.  No, instead I'm going to tell you a little story...semi-related...

Have you ever lived in an apartment building and banged on the ceiling with a broomstick because the people upstairs were being too goddamn loud?  And then, have you ever maybe wondered who it was who lived up there, and if they were, perchance...large and frightening?

My husband is a patient, reasonable man, not prone to sudden outbursts of anger.  Unless he is provoked, perhaps.  Unless he has been cooped up inside our tiny apartment all day listening to the wildebeest upstairs going Bang...Bang...Bang!!!!

Who the hell moved in up there?  Herman Munster?  And we thought the last tenants were annoying!  Please, they were a jaunt through wine country compared with this nonsense!

On top of the banging, Herman lives with someone who plays the upright bass at all hours of the night.  In case you're not familiar with this instrument, it's loud.  VERY loud.  (To put it in perspective, in an orchestra there are twenty-four violins and only four basses.)

In an uncharacteristic turn, Hubby sort of snapped.  "I can't take it anymore!"  He was going to get the broom.  Now, banging on the ceiling with household objects is usually my particular area of expertise, but that night it would be Hubby who'd take center stage.  Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang!  I had to stop him after eleven bangs.  At that point he was just being gratuitous. 

I'm not going to lie, I had a bad feeling about all this.  Perhaps it was seeing my levelheaded husband lose his cool.  At any rate, it was with a feeling of unease that I laid there on the couch watching TV.  And had I just heard knocking?  Nah.  Couldn't be.

Tap tap tap tap tap.  I muted the television.  Yes, it definitely sounded like someone was knocking.  ON OUR DOOR.  I tiptoed over and peered into the peephole and saw...how shall I describe this soul?  Think "token bad guy" from any 80's movie you've ever seen.  Think hulking, ginormous brute with scraggly blond hair and beady eyes.  Think Hell's Angels biker type.  Think...oh shit.

I scrambled my ass back to the living room and accusingly whispered to my husband: "There's someone at the door.  A huge fucking dude is at our door."

I followed Hubby and stood behind him as he opened the door.  This gentleman was even bigger than I'd initially thought.  He was maybe in his mid-forties, and at least 6'5". 

"Is there a problem?  Were you just banging on the ceiling?"  The large man spoke with an accent.  A Russian accent, maybe?  German?  (In any case, think "super villain" from a Steven Seagal or Jean-Claude Van Damme movie).  He was crouching down so his head would fit within the door frame.

Hubby held his ground and proceeded to explain that "someone" upstairs had been banging day and night, and also playing upright bass.  I, for my part, cowered behind him and tried not to shit myself.

The giant digested the information.  "My son plays bass, but he doesn't play it in the apartment; he hasn't even taken it out of its case."

"No man, he's definitely been playing it, last night he was playing it at almost midnight.  And it's really loud."  (Go....Hubby!  Just don't get us killed.)

"Are you a musician, too?"  Big dude asked.

"Yeah, I play sax, but I don't play inside the apartment out of respect for my neighbors.  It's too loud."  Holy crap.  Did Hubby actually just say that?

Big dude: "Well, I want to live here in peace.  I mean, it's only eight o'clock, I should be able to walk around, it's not even late..."

Hubby explained that he had a splitting headache and had been listening to the banging all day while trying to work on a project.  He also said we'd lived here for a year and the noise had never been so bad. 

At this point I piped in, my voice unnaturally high, and said, "The ceiling's are pretty thin, probably!  Heh heh!"

As we closed the door we could hear the giant going back up the stairs.  Boom.  Boom.  Boom.  "Of course it sounds like he's coming through the freaking ceiling," Hubby noted, "The dude's enormous!"

He was indeed.  But if Hubby had been nervous he certainly didn't show it.  As for me, I felt like we'd just escaped a near and brutal death.  All I could think of was that scene from Pee Wee's Big Adventure, when Pee Wee goes into the biker bar and screams out: I'm trying to use the PHONE!"

"Heh heh."

Comments

[Sissy]

Of course you would count how many times Hubby banged on the ceiling.

I love you Pee Wee.

[Ma]

you were right - you made me laugh - you should wait until you have a few glasses of wine and pay the russian guy a visit - maybe bring him cookies - it would be a nice neighborly gesture - maybe he could become your bodyguard - he'll take care of the idiots that sit on your steps...love, ma

[Sissy]

Don't make him anything Vegan though.

[the odd broad]

This brute was so textbook terrible and scary- I wish you could have seen him.

Perhaps I will make him a gluten free cake.

[Weinerdog]

Just give him some vodka.

[the odd broad]

I could share some of my "no sulfite added" wine with him. If I ever actually find any, that is.