Okay, this brings us up to our current residence, and if you’ve been reading my blog, you already know a lot about the duplex. It’s huge, it’s pretty, it has a yard.
We also have a shared wall. Just one. And it’s the one right behind our bed.
Things started out so well. We got all of our stuff moved in. We hung up our pictures. We adapted to living without a real, human-sized refrigerator.
We’d lived at the new place about a week and a half, when, at about 3:30 Monday morning, I woke up to the sound of thumping bass.
Now, you should know that my sleeping patterns are a swinging pendulum. Sometimes I wake up at the slightest noise, and sometimes it would take somebody repeatedly slapping me and screaming in my face to wake me up.
So I figured I was in a light-sleeping cycle. I looked over at Adam. He’s still asleep. Okay, if he can do it, so can I. I tried to go back to sleep.
Have you ever put in a dvd of a movie or tv series and fallen asleep to it? Then, at some point in the night, the movie ends and the dvd goes back to the title menu, which has some loud, annoying, repeating noise or song? When that happens to me, at first I’ll just have really frustrating dreams that go around in circles. But then I’ll slowly wake up and realize what disturbed my sleep, and at that point it is impossible for me to go back to sleep with the dvd menu still going.
(I know I could just turn it off. But we didn’t have a remote for our bedroom tv for a long time, so I’d have to get out of bed, in the dark, half asleep, and stumble and stub my way to the tv, turn it off, and stumble back. It was annoying. And sometimes painful. So yeah, I’d try to ignore it for a while first.)
Anyway, that is what this noise was like. It was obviously a repeating pattern, but I was just hearing bass, no melody, so I couldn’t even figure out what song it was.
I didn’t want to pound on the wall and wake Adam up. At least, I didn’t want to wake him up that way. So I began the Wake-Up Dance: a series of heavy sighs interspersed with frustrated tossing and turning in bed.
It worked. Adam woke up, so we both banged on the wall. After a few seconds, the noise stopped, and we went back to bed. Problem solved.
A week passed, and we didn’t have any repeat occurrences. Problem solved forever, apparently.
Until the next Monday morning, at about 3:30. Same story, same Wake-Up Dance, same wall pounding to get it to stop. And it seemed to work.
For about ten minutes.
Then the noise started back up. We pounded on the wall again, harder this time. Nothing. I moved to the couch to try to sleep there. The noise was too loud, and seemed to be getting louder. It finally got to a point where it was all we could hear. We called the cops. And I sent an email to our landlord letting him know what had happened, and asking him to do something.
I’m sure the cops came, but at some point, I was so tired that I actually fell asleep despite the noise. Adam had to leave for work at 5:00, so he was gone before the cops showed up.
At this point, we decided we had to talk to the guy. We hadn’t met him, we hadn’t even seen him, but we clearly had evidence that he was there.
So Adam knocked on his door. And waited. And noticed that there were menus and business cards rubber-banded to the doorknob. It looked like this guy hasn’t seen the outside of his front door…ever. So Adam went to the back. He knocked at the back gate. And waited. Still nothing.
Oh, we also got a response back from the landlord. It basically amounted to “Handle it yourselves. What am I, your mother?” Thanks, jerk.
A week passed. Same time, same story, same result. We called the cops, and this time we actually talked to them – the cops, I mean. They told us that since the noise wasn’t audible in the street, they can’t issue a ticket. But they’ll go over and try to talk to the guy. We hear them knock on his door. We hear them wait. Knock again. Wait longer. Then get frustrated and leave. This guy won’t open his door for anyone.
This time, we decided to do the adult thing – a passive aggressive note. Adam wrote it, so I can’t tell you what it actually said, but I imagine it read along the lines of “Dude. Come the fuck on. Band practice can wait until daylight hours, okay? People need their sleep. Asshole.”
He left it under the guy’s windshield wiper.
I drive past the guy’s car every day on the way to work, and I saw that the note wasn’t there anymore, which, I assumed, meant that he read it. So I waited for some sort of retaliation, or for him to come over and apologize. Nothing.
And, stupidly, I further assumed that meant that he read the note, he’s sorry, he understands, and he won’t do it again.
Monday morning. Awake at 4:00. Pounding bass. Near tears at this point.
We’ve pounded on the wall. We’ve knocked on his door. We’ve left a note. We’ve called the cops. We’ve contacted the landlord. At this point, I’m really thinking revenge is the only answer. If I’d had an alarm clock that I could just leave on all day while I was at work, I would’ve. Damn cell phone alarms have left me powerless in these situations.
So, before we did anything drastic, we contacted our landlord one more time. My husband emailed him this time, and his tone was less business-like and more pleading. Please help.
This time, the response was only three words, all caps:
CONSIDER IT DONE.
So, this brings us to present day. It’s been a week and a half since my husband sent the email. This Monday was the first Monday in over a month that we got to sleep all morning until the alarm went off. We’ll see if it lasts.
And by the way, it really bugs me that when I sent the email, our landlord was all, “Please, I have much more important things to do,” and when my husband sent the email, he’s immediately responsive. I know it was the second email about the same thing, and that’s probably why he decided to actually help, but still, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, “Sexist bastard.” Actually, it’s closer to the front of my mind.
And yes, construction has started on a natural gas well across the street from us. I assume it will be completed about the time we’re ready to buy a house.