Tag Archives: neighbor rage

Lame Adventure 280: Common Stupidity

Possibly this has something to do with me being a jaded New Yorker with only a thimble full of hope for the human race, but when I exited my modest dwelling to confront the day I was immediately greeted by this sight cluttering the hallway.

Brownstone blight.

Sights like this reinforce my belief that common stupidity has overtaken common sense.

I am not a particularly strong woman physically.  In addition, I’m short, extremely nearsighted, and practically everything makes me sneeze.  Then, there is the problem with my ears.  They’re in bad shape.   Following one of my early acts of intimacy with my Special Someone I felt her breath in the right one.  I suspected there was more than breathing going on over there.

Me:  Hey, did you just say something?

SS (slightly shouting):  Yeah, I said your hearing’s not that bad!

I conjured my best “what made you think that right now” facial expression, the one that slightly resembles a camel digging out something stuck between its cheek and gum with its tongue.

Me (semi-stunned):  You think?

She said something in response that I did not catch and it really was not the time that I wanted to discuss my deficient hearing, but I am quite sure she instantly revised her thinking about my deafness.  I suspect she is now fully aware that I am nearing the point of being Helen Keller’s understudy.  It’s even possible that she’s already discussed this with me and I just didn’t hear her.  But I digress …

My point is that I am a minor, easy to ignore, innocuous player in The Game of Life, but I do have the capacity to break down packing boxes, tie them together with twine, lean them against a wall – and this is very important – a wall in my own home, and then take them outside my building to where the recycled trash goes instead of tossing them like two ill-fitting Russian nesting dolls in the communal hallway as my personal contribution to the proliferation of fire hazards and proof that I’m a thoughtless, clueless, lazy blemish on society incapable of picking up after myself.

[Insert pause for breath.]

After taking the above photograph I removed my motorcycle boots, tiptoed away in my socks, and scurried fleet of foot all the way to the subway station since I prefer to avoid conflict.

Lame Adventure 167: Why didn’t I think of that?

One evening last week after work, I met Coco for a beverage.  After parting ways I headed to my sanctum sanctorum realizing that the hour was not ridiculously late and I could pursue something uncharacteristic, a decent night’s rest.

As usual, when I entered my apartment, I had to look at the eyesore that Konstantine, my next-door neighbor, has had cluttering our shared bit of hallway since January when he celebrated his birthday.  Late that night, there was a loud commotion in the hallway.  The next morning, when I opened my door I saw this site.

Not like a good neighbor, shared hallway clutter.

Cinderfella's slipper.

I do not know the significance of the Vienna poster, especially since he is Greek from Greece.  Possibly the felt slipper was added for amusement – certainly not mine. As for the inoperable intercom he has now plastered to the wall, I am sure that our landlady, Cruella LeGree, will fleece him for defacing the premises when the time comes for him to move out.  Then, I might have a hearty chuckle when she smacks him with that charge.

Several weeks later, around three in the morning I am deep in Dreamland, but not quite as deep as Elsbeth, my boss, who recently revealed that she dreamt that she was Japanese:

Elsbeth:  What do you think that means?

Naturally I asked if Stu, her husband, was in it as a samurai.

Elsbeth:  He wasn’t in it, but I had a daughter.

Elsbeth has a daughter, Charlie (yes, short for Charlotte).

Me:  So Charlie was in it?

Elsbeth:  No, my daughter wasn’t Charlie.

Me:  Did your dream have sub-titles?

Subliminal message in Elsbeth's dream.

Then, The Boss’s phone rang effectively ending one of our more interesting discussions of the week.

Unlike my superior, my dream, selecting a toothbrush at my neighborhood Duane Reade, was a tad less imaginative, but I suppose that explains why she owns the company and I’m just her serf.

My dream toothbrush.

Just as I was about to reach for a soft bristled Oral B, I was woken from my sound slumber by voices bickering, scuffling and loud banging in the hallway outside my door.  The weekend before, there had been a physical altercation in my next-door neighbor’s apartment.  They were throwing each other at the shared wall and as my books vibrated on their shelves, I thought to myself:

Me:  This sounds violent.  Should I do something?

I did.  My laundry.

Konstantine, my neighbor, was once again on a rampage, or possibly on the receiving end.  I went back to sleep.  The next morning when I opened my door to leave, I noticed that the Vienna poster was gone.  This pleased me.  For anyone who might be wondering, the slipper was removed the day after it first appeared in January.

As I headed down my building’s stairs en route to my Journey Of the Broke, I had one more encounter with my neighbor’s Vienna poster, this time in the hallway of the floor beneath us on its side dented in half.

Not exactly fold-friendly.

Why hadn’t I thought of that?  Oh right, I am not a temper tantrum tossing nut job.  Apparently, I just happen to live next door to one.