Sunday, January 09, 2011

I think we're living in a Hitchcock movie

The last time I had problems with a neighbor was in college, when the guys next door turned their stereo up loud, probably to drown out my roommate who was convinced she was Paris Hilton ("Oh em gee, that's haaaawt!").

But here....

First, it was the upstairs neighbor.
She left us a typed, half-page note secured with twine on our door handle. She claimed we slammed our closet doors and cabinets and made all manner of noise during the night while she was trying to sleep. Riiiiight. We brought this to the attention of the landlady, who said, "Oh, she complains about everything all the time. She brings me notes too, real insulting ones." The upstairs neighbor has been quiet ever since.

Now, it's the downstairs neighbors.
They are weird, paranoid, ultra-suspicious, cranky old gits. They argued and yell loud enough that we can hear them through the floor, and sometimes when it's really quiet in our apartment (exactly the opposite of what the upstairs neighbor alleged!), it sounds like the woman is in the room with me.

Last week, the man watched us walk out to our vehicle and get in; he did the same with his car. We drove out of the lot; he drove out of the lot. We went down the hill to the stop sign and signaled left; he went down the hill to the stop sign, waited for us to start turning, and did a U-turn to go back to the parking lot.

A few days ago, my husband had just gotten back from work, parked in the lot, walked toward the door, and the man stopped him just in front of the door to the apartment building. Apparently, this man is very bitter and nasty and hates EVERYONE (last night, I could hear the guy telling his wife, "I hate that fat f**king b*tch at the library. All she does is sit on her big fat ass in front of the computer all day. She practically has the whole f**king day off working there, but she just sits in front of the f**king computer!").

Last night, we got back from the gym around 8:30 PM. My husband wanted to plug in the truck, since it was predicted to be -27 F overnight (without windchill). I went to take in some groceries we had picked up along the way and left my husband to his plugging-in. A couple minutes later, he got into the apartment and said, "I couldn't plug in the truck. They were staring at me through the slats in the blinds!" I started to put away groceries while my husband took off his boots and walked toward the living room window. The man from downstairs had gone out and was sitting in his car. Just sitting, with the car off, waiting for my husband to go back out to plug in the truck.

1 comment:

Jill said...

Since you are living in a Hitchcock story, how about including in your cast of charactors the guy who is kitty-corner from your apartment? The guardian of the steps. You know, the talker? Remember when we thought he followed us to the restaurant? And it wasn't until we got back to your place and discovered he had been at the restaurant, too. He also sat in his car watching us -- maybe when we visit again, we'll rent a car and we will all take off in different directions to see if we can make one of their heads explode.