Is it a rite of passage to adulthood, that one must live in an apartment at least once? I spent the better part of my childhood living in apartments. It wasn’t until college that I began to notice the difficulties inherent in multi-family dwelling.
For instance, there was the gal who lived next door. We never knew her name. The guy she was dating was named…Tim. But he went by, “Ohmygodtim!”.
Then. The compulsively clean upstairs neighbor. Lots of throw rugs. Which she took to the sliding glass door, shook, and replaced. One at a time. Every. Day.
There was the guy who looked like that one guy from REO Speedwagon. Down to the hair and the zebra pants. He lived behind us. He could hold his liquor most of the time. Or maybe it was stomach flu. A better neighbor would have gone over and held his hair.
The guy who moved in after him, fought with his girlfriend. I mean. Fought. The next morning, I went to the apartment office and told them they could tell him that if that happened again, I would be calling the cops. The girl only came back to the apartment once. Dude glared at me the rest of the time he lived there.
He glared at me.
It made me smile.