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calling 9-1-1
Dec. 19th, 2003 01:31 pmSo last night I got to bed late, around midnight. Right around then, my next-door neighbor decided to start yelling, at the top of his lungs. For a long time. A long, long time. Did I mention this was at the top of his lungs? I lay in bed, wondered if he was drunk, or high, or constipated (this seemed likely from the sounds - "AAAAUUUUUURRRRGGGHHHHH!") or having sex (also seemed likely, from the tone, and the banging around) and whether I should ask him to stop, or whether this would involve injury to me, and how effective it would be anyways. A little after 2 am, I broke down, and called the police. The local number transferred me to 9-1-1, and they sent over 2 cops. I let them in the front door, and led them to the apartment. Luckily my neighbor was in mid-yell, which meant the cops looked at each other, and then at me, as if to say, "Yeah, that's a noise complaint!" I scurried back to my apartment, and stood with H just inside the door, listening, while the police banged on his door and asked him to open up. After something between 5 and 10 minutes, he finally opened up when they threatened to bring the fire department in to force the door. They asked him why it took him so long, whether he was there alone, whether he was on medication, why that chair was broken, whether he was on drugs (I couldn't hear any of his answers) and then I guess they were in the apartment b/c I couldn't make out much anymore. We listened for about half an hour, and then I decided to trudge back to bed.
Of course, I couldn't get to sleep immediately, but tossed and turned until about 4 am. I called in to Longy to say I would be in late, at 11, so I got a little more sleep, but still not nearly enough. Although bemused by the intrigue of the whole incident, I am nevertheless grumpy that this happened the night before a concert, at the end of a week when I have gotten less sleep than I have for a long, long time.
Oh, yeah. Back Bay Chorale concert. 8 pm. Fanueil Hall. Tonight. Come. Yeah.
My neighbors are just weird. And since I have the bedroom with a window onto the shaft that goes up through the apartment, and hear everything from everyone else's windows, I get all the good stuff. The first day I moved in I got to hear sex from across the way for a long time. There's a weird guy on the 4th floor who whoops and yodels every day. (You have to hear it to believe it.) The guy upstairs had some really violent fights with his girlfriend in the fall (this is what prompted me to stick the police's number on the fridge in the first place.) And now apparently my next-door neighbor is a weird drugged psycho.
There is, however, a nice gay couple 2 floors up whom I got to gossip with in the laundry room about all our weird neighbors. And a friend of mine from TKD on the 4th floor, that I occasionally run into outside the mailboxes.
Part of me digs living in such a colorful apartment. I just wish that the guy next door had chosen his time to be colorful with less diabolical irony from my point of view. (I've never heard a peep from him up until now, except for a little hammering during the day.)
Of course, I couldn't get to sleep immediately, but tossed and turned until about 4 am. I called in to Longy to say I would be in late, at 11, so I got a little more sleep, but still not nearly enough. Although bemused by the intrigue of the whole incident, I am nevertheless grumpy that this happened the night before a concert, at the end of a week when I have gotten less sleep than I have for a long, long time.
Oh, yeah. Back Bay Chorale concert. 8 pm. Fanueil Hall. Tonight. Come. Yeah.
My neighbors are just weird. And since I have the bedroom with a window onto the shaft that goes up through the apartment, and hear everything from everyone else's windows, I get all the good stuff. The first day I moved in I got to hear sex from across the way for a long time. There's a weird guy on the 4th floor who whoops and yodels every day. (You have to hear it to believe it.) The guy upstairs had some really violent fights with his girlfriend in the fall (this is what prompted me to stick the police's number on the fridge in the first place.) And now apparently my next-door neighbor is a weird drugged psycho.
There is, however, a nice gay couple 2 floors up whom I got to gossip with in the laundry room about all our weird neighbors. And a friend of mine from TKD on the 4th floor, that I occasionally run into outside the mailboxes.
Part of me digs living in such a colorful apartment. I just wish that the guy next door had chosen his time to be colorful with less diabolical irony from my point of view. (I've never heard a peep from him up until now, except for a little hammering during the day.)
