Ok, I have been trying to keep myself from ripping on my neighbor, but the time has come. Let’s give him the fictional name of Bruno for the purpose of this post. Bruno is a middle-aged, single, Middle Eastern looking guy, who loves 80’s pop music and at no time hesitates to not only play it but rather sing along with it. Bruno also coughs uncontrollably, usually in the wee hours of the morning.
I never complain as I somewhat feel bad for the guy. Bruno on the other hand always complains. The guy knocks on my wall more often than any pecking bird does into a barrel thick oak tree. I think I heard him knocking a couple of weeks ago when I was brushing my teeth. Electric toothbrushes are so noisy.
Last night I came home rather drunk, as I had hit Main Street in Venice with a few work buddies. Bruno has been out of town for about a week and I was rather surprised when he greeted me at my door. At 2:30am. He welcomed me back with a hug and then proceeded to tell me that he just came home from a week-long hotel getaway with his girlfriend in the Anaheim Hills. I thought it was kind of weird to go on vacation 25 minutes south of where you live, but not a big deal. Mind you, I am pretty drunk at this point and just want to hit the sack. Bruno proceeds to tell me his girlfriend (who is at least 20 years older than him) completely freaked out on him and called 911. It’s been a stressful day and he’s just trying to calm himself down with some gin and pop music. Fine by me. I shake his hand, close my door and tumble into bed. What a weirdo that guy is.
Five minutes later he’s knocking on my door again, wanting to apologize for all the times he knocked on my wall. I talk with him for another twenty minutes and finally manage to get him to leave.
It’s 12:30am on Saturday night and his Tina Turner is literally making my apartment walls shake. I am not going to knock on the wall, as it will just give him a reason to come and talk again. Gosh, I am helpless.