The Next Door Neighbors, A Field Study

March 17

Observations of living in a college apartment complex: After moving in, the man next door immediately disappeared behind dark curtains and never resurfaced; the couple directly across, down, and to the left do not own curtains or clothing, apparently; the woman to the right only wears polka dot terry cloth pants; the man downstairs plays techno from 9 pm until 5 am (little does he know I am planning his imminent demise); and there is one apartment which, I think, is only occupied by a small rabbit.

March 28

The man who lives on the first floor apparently only owns one song - techno/rave, single repetitive bass line. Over and over and over all night long every night. When he dies (sooner rather than later), may God force him to listen to Abba for all eternity as punishment.

April 16

Hazard of living in college apartment complex: you are forced to listen to the most tasteless music in the world whenever your neighbors are 1) happy 2) depressed 3) high 4) drunk 5) awake 6) asleep and/or 7) otherwise indisposed. The good news is, I found out that the man downstairs who loves techno (night after night after awful night) is practically my size and I'm pretty sure I can take him.

April 17

Tales of the Man One Room Over:
Me: I think I saw our neighbor today, so probably he isn't dead in there after all.
Tim: Well, good. 

April 29

Someone has tacked a sign onto the elevator: 'Hell's Elevator. Ude aft drift.'
How apt. It hasn't worked since ... well, ever.

May 22

I keep smelling cake, and I don't have any cake in my apartment, so I think the guy next door who moved in four months ago and never resurfaced must have a cake (although how he came by one is beyond me, since apparently he can't go outside and he also doesn't have visitors or an oven). So what do you think? Should I take a fork and a gallon of milk over there and bang on his door until he comes out? It'll be therapeutic. He'll thank me someday if he doesn't die of shock.

June 5

I live three doors down from a Chinese man in his mid to late twenties. I have to walk past his apartment to get to the exit. Whenever I go by, I see him sitting at his window, holding an overstuffed teddy bear that is essentially half his size. Yesterday it was sitting on his shoulders. Today it was in his lap. Does anyone else find this odd and/or disconcerting?

June 6

The man with the teddy bear and his room-mate are either deeply in love or hate each other. I can't tell, really. They are constantly screaming at the top of their lungs. They sound angry, but when I poke my head out the door to see if they're coming to blows ... they appear to be playing tag. Flirtatiously. 

If they split, who do you suppose will keep the stuffed bear? 

June 7

At the bus stop today:

Danish man: Du smiler altid.
Me: Eh, well.
Danish man: Oh, you're not Danish, that's why. How do you like living in this malignantly narcissistic, mentally ill, near-communist country?
Me: Uhhh ... It's nice when the sun is out?
Danish man: I belong in the States. Do you like Obama?
Me: Not particularly.
Danish man: OH MAN! Can I have you over?!
Me: Oh. Um.
Danish man: I want you to read my book.

... Guess what? This guys lives in THE NEXT BUILDING OVER. Of all the gin joints.

June 9

Some guy had a bad trip on the lawn out front. His girlfriend called the hunky hunky neighbors. Big ordeal; screaming, swinging, ambulance. Welcome to the Mad Hatter's Tea Party Apartment Complex.

June 10

I finally met the man next door. He came out of his apartment for the first time since February, to watch the guy tripping on the lawn (wearing his shoes on his hands and beating the air with his fists). His name is Martin; his major is cultural encounters. I find it baffling how he intends to use this degree, holed up in that one-room apartment behind blackout shades. He's missing out on a lot of bizarre cultural encounters in his own building. For example: Man two doors down who carries around the large teddy bear; man directly below whose apartment is a glorified garage for multicolored scooters; man in the next building over who is writing books about Danish narcissism. And then there's the guy with the cuckoo clock that has been going off since 7 this morning. Clearly he has a death wish.

June 15

Met Shane, the student blacksmith who lives two floors down.  Sweetheart, well-traveled, looks like Jonathan Rhys Meyers only blonde. He is the only neighbor who consistently smiles at me whenever I see him. Taught me how to operate the communal Danish oven downstairs. Brownies burned.

June 18

One of my neighbors is standing on the second story balcony, yelling and wildly gesticulating into the air. I sure hope he at least thinks there's a person down there. There is, in fact, a tree. I can verify that for sure.

June 18

They are blowing up a kiddie pool so they can have a pool party. I am invited. The last time they had a big (drinking) shindig, they were very chatty. In a nutshell: they technically 'live with whoever has the hottest girlfriend at the time' (that would be the pretty girl with cherry-colored hair who cleans up after them and has the little yappy dog) and 'how come, out of all your kids, the redhead is the only one you let come outside?' 

What can I say. He is my favorite child, after all.

June 28

My neighbors just brought me a plate of home-made dumplings (I should clarify: my Chinese neighbors - these are authentic, baby!). Best Friday surprise ever. No it was not the guy with the teddy bear.

July 6

As we're leaving the building, Isaac stops in front of our neighbor's apartment, stands directly in front of their wide-open double door, and yells, "MAMA! I want to watch that!" and points (at the people inside). Luckily it was just the (adult male) neighbor with the teddy bear, otherwise we'd probably have to move now. 

 

On second thought, scratch that.
 

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