Thursday, May 26, 2011

Getting Busy

I am convinced that yesterday was the pinnacle of my customer service career. One resident was so fed up with her upstairs neighbor's "bedroom habits" that she decided to record the incessant squeaking of the bedsprings that were keeping her awake at night. She was tired of having to explain to her young daughter that the neighbors were just "moving furniture" in the middle of the night. "Momma, they sure move a lot of furniture," the daughter said. So just in case we thought she was exaggerating or making it up, she actually caught the neighbor in the act on tape knocking boots like some kind of boot-knocking madman.

I kept trying to convince her that we believed her and that we were doing everything we could to resolve the situation. But it's not like we can ask this poor guy to stop having sex in his own apartment. We didn't need proof but nevertheless she insisted on holding the tape player up to the phone and playing it for me. So there I was sitting at my desk, listening in on the intimate if not exactly private affairs of one of my residents. Emotionally, I was torn. I felt bad for the guy on the tape who just wanted to get his freak on and here we were about to meddle. But at the same time, it was really loud. I'd be pissed too if that was my neighbor and I couldn't sleep whenever he got lucky. And then on the other hand, I was impressed. Homeboy has stamina. I mean, he was REALLY going for it. Hat's off to you, sir. But mostly I was just uncomfortable. There's nothing worse in my opinion than accidentally overhearing other people getting it on, no matter who it is. I have some horror stories, believe me.

So this incident just combined many things I despise:

1. People bitching
2. Problems for which there are no answers
3. Awkward confrontations
4. Listening to complete strangers have sex

I believe the compromise was that Homeboy was going to dismantle his bed frame and just put the mattress on the floor. Hopefully that helped. I really don't want to have to listen to another amateur recording of his mating rituals. Situations like this, of which there is no short supply in Studio City, definitely keep life interesting.


  1. Hahahahahaha.
    Oh man, apartment life sucks so bad. I lived in an apartment for four months and you could hear every fucking thing. It was awful.

  2. Agreed. Though the only thing worse than hearing every fucking thing is hearing about everything fucking thing the next day. All day. Every day. Oh. Dear. God. But it pays the bills and sometimes amuses me.