I was taking one of my post-lunch, day-off-from-work naps,
when I was rudely awoken by the sound of deep bass from one of my neighbors
playing their music. I love music and even loud music, but when it is not my
own, the sound of it is one of the most gut-wrenchingly annoying sounds in the
world to me. I stumbled off my couch and into my kitchen to look for a snack.
Eating is my second favorite thing to do on my day off and now, thanks to my
neighbor, napping, my first favorite wasn’t happening. Nothing in the kitchen
looked appetizing and then I remembered I had Ranch Sunflower Seeds in my car.
They were leftover from the road trip from which I had recently returned home. This
meant I would have to make the long trek to the garage, which, in my apartment
complex means a long walk and an elevator ride, but the sunflower seeds would
be worth it. And it would also give me a chance to see which neighbor was
playing their music so loudly. I would never do or say anything, as it was 4 o’clock
in the afternoon and not 2am, but I could at least scowl in the direction of
the music. In this way, I am a very old soul.
My apartment complex here in Los Angeles is a
lot like Melrose Place, less anybody young and good-looking and a pool. By
this, I mean all the apartments face-in toward one another. There are only 30 units,
thus making it very easy to see where the music would be coming from. As I
walked through the center of the complex toward the elevator, the music became
louder and as I got closer, I discovered it was coming from the 2nd
floor and more specifically, unit 211. The door was wide open and the music was
blaring. They might as well have put the speakers on their welcome mat. ‘What
an asshole, ‘ I thought. What could
possibly be going through their mind? I
shook my head and continued on into the elevator. Upon entry into the elevator, (the ONLY access
to our garage, otherwise, I would have taken the stairs and this story may
never have happened) I noticed a hand-written sign posted in the elevator. This
had become a recent trend in our complex that began a few months ago when
someone lost a blue Swatch watch and posted a reward. Since then, there have
been other lost-and-founds, furniture for sale, and lost pet signs posted.
Seems it is a good way to communicate as everyone who drives has to take the
elevator. Today’s sign was different though. It read “Whoever stole the blue lawn
chair please return to #211. I JUST put it out yesterday and I have had it for
years. SHAME ON YOU.” That’s right. Apt.
211. The very apartment that was blasting their terrible music was using our
innocent apt. building elevator communicating medium for shaming! The BALLS
this tenant must have. I admire them.
I laughed as I got off the elevator, retrieved my seeds, and
got back on. Walking back to my apartment, I cringed listening to the Maroon 5
coming from 211. It seemed even louder now. Something came over me and I
realized this was an opportunity I had to seize. I threw open my door, dropped
the seeds, and grabbed the closest writing utensil I could find. It just so happened
to be a red Sharpie. I casually walked back out my open door and toward the
elevator. I carried my red Sharpie between my index finger and thumb and
upright along my wrist so that it would be hidden from plain view. What I was
about to do was very risky because, at any moment, one of my neighbors could
emerge from their home and surely catch me in the act. I pressed the elevator button
casually so not to suspect any possible on-looker. The doors opened and I
walked in. I pressed the “G” button to take me to the garage floor so that I
could have 30 seconds alone in the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, I
turned toward the sign and on it, I wrote “Perhaps your blue chair was stolen
because you play your music so damn loud and with your door wide open. I don’t
have your blue chair, but if I did, I would keep it out of spite. Shame on YOU!”
I had only enough time to write this brilliantly composed
retort before the doors opened to the garage. I prayed there was no one waiting
to ride the elevator back up because surely they would make the connection
between the fresh red ink and my red Sharpie. There was no one. I pressed the
button for level one and rode it back up. I walked out into the courtyard and
toward my apartment with a sense of satisfaction that cannot easily be
described. I had found a direct, totally anonymous, ironic way to tell my
neighbor to SHUT THE FUCK UP. I smiled for about an hour or so after the fact.
As I ate my seeds, I fantasized about the tenant of unit 211 finding their note
had been tampered with and their attempt at shaming had been thwarted. I
imagined other tenants would laugh and revel in the joy that someone had “really
given it to 211.” It really is the little things in life that bring the most
joy.
I don’t know if 211 ever saw my response. The sign was taken down later on that
evening. Let’s just say that afternoons in the Hayworth apartments have been pretty
quiet the past few days and I can’t help but take it just a little bit of
credit. It was a good Thursday.
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