Many months ago, after hopping from one hotel to the next, in search of an apartment that didn't offer stained carpet, moldy sun decks and rotting insulation, we finally found our South Bend resting ground. A newly-remodeled apartment complex which, at the time of the contract signing, was, unbeknownst to us, undergraduate party central.
Although I have remained in the confines of my own unit on football weekends (that usually begin on Thursday), the paper-thin walls [Aliseea...shhhh! They're THIN!], and reverberating hallways have left me feeling like I've attended every beer pong and let's-get-high-together-and-then-run-around-in-the-attic party since late August. I've had seething strings of profanity lace their way under the door, through the living room, down the hall, past the office, into my bedroom, where they bury themselves deep into the essence of my dreams. Which subsequently turn nightmarish.
One time we met our neighbors, and this is how the conversation went:
"Heeyyeyyeye!" (Bloodshot eyes included with that slurring.)
"Hi."
"You're...ourrrrr...neiggghhhborssss??"
"Yep."
"Cooooolllllllllllllllluuhhhhhhh! Heeeyeyeyyyyyyyyye. Do you guyyyyss wanttttooo cuuum'in foorrrrrrradrink?"
"Um. No, that's ok."
"Heyeysysss ssssoo, ifff we getttu um too louuud, jusssst come and knockkk on the door, ok?? Donnn'tttt call the coppssss, ok??"
"Uh, sure."
"Donnn''n'n'n'ttttt callllll the coppppssssssss, ok?"
"Okay, sure."
"Youuuu shhhhhhur you don't want a drinnnnnk??"
"Pretty sure."
"Wellllsseeeeyaaa!"
"Later."
And just like the pacifists we are, we obliged.
Although my 9-1-1 trigger finger's been itching.
I still don't know why I enable such ridiculous behavior. Maybe because I don't think a phone call is going to make a difference.
And truth is, it probably wouldn't.
Public intoxication and underage drinking is a lot like speeding around here: Do it. Just don't get caught. And if you do...slappy slap on the wrist. Rinse. Repeat. (Just like at almost every other college campus in the world, I'm sure...except for most of those in Utah.)
But, I guess our tolerance of vulgarity, broken beer bottles all over the parking lot, reckless parties, smashed furniture and hallucinating co-eds has paid off.
The other night, we received a peace offering at our doorstep:
Guess they didn't believe us when we said we didn't want a drink.
Glad I've been sober all my life.
Just sayin'.
3 comments:
I honestly don't know which is worse--moldy insulation or obnoxious neighbors. Wouldn't wish either on my worst enemy!
You're funny--I always laugh out loud when I read your posts. I miss you, friend!
"What are Andi...The Walls."
Brittany, I think obnoxious neighbors are definitely worse. I had a rude awakening when I went to grad school at a very liberal school, too. Not quite as bad, because *supposedly* grad students have grown up a little...but it was still a bit of a shock. What I always wondered to myself, as I carefully budgeted my life to not run out of money before graduation, is, how do they afford it? The most common answer is probably "mom and dad!"
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