I Work Hard So You Don't Have To . . .

Well, I finally had it out with Miss Ashley in 3C last night. I had an itching that her newly somber comings and goings would likely not continue long term. She really topped herself Sunday night when she broke into a shouting match with her houseguest, Liz. And, how do I know that her houseguest's name is Liz? Because I heard the entire dialogue through my wall at 1:30 am, of course! Apparently, the f***'n houseguest didn't let the f***'n dog out when it needed to go to the f***'n bathroom and it pee'd all over the f***'n couch that costs $1000 f***'n dollars! Luckily, I was off work Monday for the MLK holiday, so I was still awake at 1:30 am reading my book; I tried my best to ignore them . . .

Unfortunately, Miss Ashley found herself locked out of her apartment last night when she tried to leave to run to the store at 10:30pm. I lay in bed listening intently as she shouted to Liz inside the apartment to let her in. The door knob was jammed and neither one could open the door. I then listened as she called a locksmith to come rescue her. Twenty minutes later, the locksmith arrived and I listened as he explained to her that he would only be able to gain access to her apartment if he drilled the lock for a hefty handover of $250. Somewhat upset at having to fork over such a large sum of money, she rang my doorbell!

Why did she ring my doorbell, you ask? Well, Miss Ashley and I share a balcony you see. Both our apartments have a sliding glass door that leads out to a balcony that we share with a half wall. And, after listening to her conversation with the locksmith, I knew immediately what she wanted--to walk through my apartment to gain access to hers.

I answered the door (in my pajamas--which seems to always be my attire of choice whenever she and I interact with one another) and said, "Oh gee, what now?"

She began rambling on about how this locksmith here (pointing at him) wants to charge her $300 (hmmm, I remember hearing $250, but I didn't argue) to give her access to her apartment because the door lock isn't working. And, could she walk through my apartment to get into hers? I don't recall any apology provided for disturbing me, dragging me out of bed; I don't think she even offered a "May I please . . . ?" Instead the conversation went a little something like this:

"OK, Ashley, I am happy to let you walk through my apartment, but can you give me one reason why I should?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean, you need my help. Why should I help you right now when I have asked you repeatedly to be quiet and help me get a good night's sleep and you have refused to be more quiet?"

"I am NOT having this conversation right now." (eyes rolling) "I am not too loud. The guy below me is so loud that he makes my apartment vibrate. . . "

(Well, that makes your actions justified then . . . I didn't realize that the guy below you was so loud.)

"You have got to realize that you live in an apartment--an apartment in the city. The building is old and it's going to be noisy. I can't help it if the walls are paper thin."

"The walls are not paper thin. You are that loud.", I said matter-of-factly.

After a few deep breaths and another eye roll, she responded, "Well, tell me this. How is it that I never hear you and you claim to hear me all the time."

"Because, Ashley, I have lived in apartments long enough to understand that it is a communal living situation and that I need to be quiet for my neighbors' sake."

"Whatever, I am NOT going to walk on egg-shells for you!" she shouted (quietly, of course.)

"That's not what I am saying at all. I am simply asking that you be cognizant of those around you. I am not being unreasonable in my requests to not wear your shoes on the floors and to not slam doors." "And, you could keep the shouting to a minimum as well."

She stared incredulously at me.

"That's right. I can hear you! I heard your entire conversation last night at 1 in the morning! And, I just don't need to hear the f-bomb thrown around, especially at 1 in the morning!"

"Whatever! Are we going to do this or what?", she asked while neglecting to actually make the request formal.

"Again, I am happy to help you. I just think that you need to be more willing to help me with what I need."

I let her through and immediately went back to bed. No, I didn't receive a "thank you" and she didn't even come close to understanding what I was asking. I then lay in bed and listened to her complain through the wall for an hour about how "she is NOT too loud."

Yeah, I have to move once my lease is up in May.