I’m late to posting but finally getting around to writing after my day started off with a bang. Quite literally. I wasn’t paying attention when I opened my curtains this morning. The rod missing its end piece and came crashing down giving me quite the jump scare.
My downstairs neighbour must hate me as much as I hate the neighbours on my floor. I call the girls Gabby Babbys. Since lockdown started, I’ve had to listen to them giggle and gossip in the hallway almost every day. The last straw was one Monday morning at 8 am when I was still sleeping.
I heard them the other day when I was trying to grab a nap, my sleep is still off – and I purposely slammed my door to let them know I could hear them. It didn’t stop them. I could hear them whisper, “Why did she do that?”
Every time I get a delivery or someone comes in to pick something up – I can see their doors are partially open. They watch every move I make. Maybe they’re trying to figure out if I’m moving out. And yes Gabby Babby’s, it’s partially because of you.
When I moved into this building, it was very quiet. There was a young couple across the hall. The gentlemen next door with the Philipino girlfriend. And then a young gal with a pup across the hall. I liked it. Everyone kept to themselves. We got along.
Even the dude who would open his door without his shirt was friendly enough to welcome me home almost daily. Yes. Almost. Daily. At least that first year.
Then Gabby Blonde moved in across the hall about two years in. It was party after party until three in the morning. One night I came home and found six people in the hallway. I told them to vacate or I’d call the cops. Keep the party in the suite man. How hard is this to understand?
I opened my door and the guy followed me and stood two inches from my face. I slammed the door hard on his face and called the cops. They arrived – with a paddy wagon – at three in the morning. Long after the party had broken up.
Then there was the douche canoe DJ boyfriend who liked to clean his truck out front while blaring Notorious BIG. Biggy – Ok, I get it. Great music. But it isn’t 1999 anymore. It was 2017 at the time. Another complaint submitted. And another warning was issued. We learned Gabby was renting the suite from her mother. That explained a lot.
Then there was the one time I heard this commotion in the hall. I looked through my peep hole thinking it was a burglar. Nope. It was Gabby Babby, trying to figure out how to open her own door with her keys. She was so drunk, she kept dropping them onto the floor, cussing and banging her head each time. It was a mixture of sad humiliation, and comedic relief at the same time.
She was in college when she moved in. Parties happened every fall and every spring. So many complaints were made to the condo board about the noise. But nothing was done about it. Even shirtless dude started complaining. He hated Gabby as much as I did. And I don’t hate many people in this world.
Then there was the time Gabby threatened to cut my throat. Yeah, that actually happened. This was about two years ago. I got tired of listening to her and her friends slam the door at three in the morning as they came and went. The door would shake the entire floor. I yelled at her through the door to “shut the hell up”.
“I will cut your throat, c***.”
Those were her exact words. She’s lovely, isn’t she? We haven’t exchanged words since.
Another complaint. Police report filed as the condo board had to have the complaint in writing. Even the police officer on duty rolled her eyes at me and told me she couldn’t do anything about it. I politely told her to do her job and said, “I just need it in writing. I don’t care if you follow up or not.”
There was that one time I was on my way to work when this beast of some kind ran into the hall from her suite. I stopped and stared at it. It looked like a rat. But no. It was one of those fugly skinless cats.
IT RAN INTO MY SUITE!
Her boyfriend came out apologizing while he searched for the hairless beast. I stood there awkwardly trying to make small talk.
“Well, uh, it’s uh, cute,” I said.
He looked at me funny like he hated his life and said, “Sure, if you think so.”
Then the mice came.
Then winter came and I fell twice on the ice – once in the back and once in the front of the building. Because our maintenance people suck.
Now it’s just the mice and the Gabby Babbys I have to deal with. But only for 11 more days. I bumped up my move.
I politely sang into the hall as I noticed as Gabby’s door was slightly ajar as she spied on me chatting with the junk removal guys. It was the last of the junk for pick up. I got rid of my recliner way too soon and I’m missing it for writing and working on stuff on the computer. This chair is not comfortable at all. But I think the mice actually got into it. It was gross when the guys took it apart. Yuck.
“Yes, I’m moving in two weeks because I fucking hate you” I sang merrily as I closed my door.
So, today’s lesson of the day even though this post may make me look immature – but I’ve put up with a lot of crap from neighbours here.
If you’re going to spy on your neighbour, don’t be so obvious about it. Use the damn peephole like the rest of us normal folks.