I am the old lady who threw my basketball to shut you up.

I live in an apartment complex. In case you’ve never been blessed enough to have this experience, let me tell you – it is AWE-SOME! The beauty of apartment complexes is that even if you never intentionally get to know your neighbors, you know a lot about them.

The first way you get to know your neighbors has to do with their mail. You know when they get UPS and FedEx packages. If you’re nosy enough, you might even read the label to see who sent them the packages. Occasionally, depending on the mailbox situation, you’ll even know who sends them letters and cards. Reading someone else’s mail is apparently a huge crime, but if it’s done on accident, what’s the harm? 😉

The second way you get to know your neighbors is when you hear their alarms go off five times every morning. You know the type – the “morning person” who really hates mornings. I’m that person. I set five alarms in order to get up one hour after that first alarm went off. A few years ago, my downstairs neighbors used to make a deal of it, but by now, I think they just deal.

The third way you get to know your neighbors is when you hear every bed squeak, every step, and every wall bang throughout the morning, eve, and night. On weekends, you get to know the most about folks. You hear their music, dancing, shouts and “heys” during a party, and pretty much anything that goes on in their apartment.

Today, as I was walking to my second floor apartment, one of my upstairs neighbors stopped me for a second to see if they had been bothering me when playing their music. “Yeah, I can hear everything,” I told them. “That’s what apartment living is all about. That’s why most bands play in a garage or something.”

Then the guy (who I’m pretty sure is about 19 years old) started to ask me specifically which sounds I heard the most. I squinted my eyes at him. “I hear everything,” I responded. “You guys are loud. I haven’t said anything at all this year because you guys are pretty good, but the other night, I was fed up so I threw my basketball at the ceiling.”

The guy didn’t really know how to respond. And honestly, if I were in his situation, I don’t know if I would either.

The thing is, when you live in an apartment, you really shouldn’t be rocking out with your band every night of the week, especially with amps. That’s kind of common sense, I believe. That’s why millennials move back home with their parents – they can move into the basement and then take over the garage with their friends. The guys upstairs need to try that. I’m sure they’d go platinum in no time with no old lady and her basketball downstairs.

Let’s face it, if I were a true old lady, I’d probably be nicer. I’d likely bake them cookies and deliver them for the holidays. But I’m not an old lady. I’m just a working woman who happens to live in an apartment. And I am so ready for the music upstairs to stop!


Tata for now.



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