Neighborhood Crazy

The man downstairs is a public menace. A danger to himself, as well as to those around him. I considered phoning the police tonight. Not something I would normally do, but there is only so much screaming and shouting one can listen to when someone is threatening to do away with someone else.

And me, being the stupid girl that I sometimes am, crept down my back stairs with cell phone in hand to record every yell of his conversation. Or at least just enough of it to play back to my landlord and whomever else might be interested in listening. After all, a girl with proof in her hands or in this case on her phone is hard to dispute when it comes to complaints against her vile neighbor.

My landlord however didn't have very much to say other than an admonishment to deadbolt my doors, as if they weren't already double locked to begin with, and to call the police should things begin to escalate. And though I really wanted to thank Frank for such stellar advice, I managed to hold back. Also holding back my if you wouldn't rent your apartments to headcases and substance abuse users perhaps this building would be a nicer place to live comment while I was at it.

All of this makes me desperate to move. Far away from the insane asylum that seems to show up in all forms below. KC, of course, was nervous and ready to flee to our friends and neighbors in the house next door. And they in turn offered their home as refuge in case we needed to make fleeing an option. And though it was very much appreciated, I was steadfast about not letting someone else have the power to make me feel as if I needed to leave my home.

Frank meanwhile was leaving messages for the lunatic downstairs on his home phone, while the mental patient was outside pacing in the middle of the street in a full on rave of fuck this, fuck that and I'm going to squash you like a mosquito to his other side of the conversation phone companion.

My trigger finger was itching on the 911...

Sending KC off to bed, a feat almost impossible considering that his music was loud enough to be heard two counties away, it was with pleasant surprise to hear the volume level suddenly go down. Pleasant however turned itself quickly around by the sound of creaking on the back stairs to my home, and a persistent knock on my door.

I debated answering it. Questioning the intelligence of opening my door to someone who obviously is off his rocker and in need of lots and lots of counseling. And yet I did. And I did only because I know his type. The type that will knock until the rooster crows and the sun comes up until you answer the door all because they know without a shadow of a doubt that you're in there.

I opened my door halfway. Just enough to know he wasn't packing, and just enough to slam it right in his face if I had to. And just enough so that my Mother who when she gets around to reading this post won't think I was being overly foolish or naive.

The apologies spewed from his mouth like they were something I needed to hear. And right away I drew myself back from the smell of alcohol emitting from his entire person, as if he had taken a bath in it and then doused himself with a whole bottle for cologne.

"Why didn't you just come down and ask me to turn it down?" he asked.

I looked him right in the eye, with a not happy, not impressed and not in the mood for his bullshit look on my face and replied with sarcasm, "Because I would feel safe enough to?"

"I'm a nice guy. You don't understand. I'm going through some tough times. My ex-wife she just doesn't understand that I want to be left alone. I mean I try to tell her, but she just won't listen and it's really stressing me out," he said in a drunken slur.

"I'm sorry you're having problems," I answered him, "but they're not mine. It's late, and I shouldn't have to tell you to turn your music down. And it's not just me you're bothering. It's all our neighbors. So do everyone a favor and just be considerate."

"I don't want to cause problems." he whined, "I was just thinking that you seem real nice and we could be friends, you know, I think we could be really good friends. You're a good listener. That one day when I came upstairs, it's because I was thinking that we could talk or something." Eyeballing my chest, he looked at me as if he expected me to be excited about the prospect. I decided it was time to put this one right to bed without delay.

"Listen Pasquale, don't take this the wrong way, but we're neighbors, not friends and we're not going to be. I thank you for apologizing, I would appreciate it if you kept things to a dull roar, but that's it. Now it's late and honestly, it's been a long enough night. So goodbye."

And with that, I politely but oh so firmly shut the door, locked it up tight, and retired to my reading room to write this blog.

If anyone happens to know a really nice place in need of a really good tenant let me know... I think I'm going to have to move.