I have an a great knack for neighbours. It goes back in time, but I swear if there was a prize for living next to unusual people, I would not only win, they would name the prize after me.
I used to live in an apartment on the basement floor. The day I checked the place out, nary a peep in the building, and the price was right. Of course, it was 10am, and most people were at work. Little did I realize both the walls and ceilings were paper thin, and you could hear everything.
Across the hall was another young guy, just like me at the time. Seemed to keep to himself - I always saw him coming back home on his bike with bags of groceries in hand. OK, so the guy liked to eat, worse things to have right? Well I guess my friend also fancied himself a ladies man, thinking he could bring the birds to the nest for a little alone time. Little did I know, alone time included watching adult movies every weekend - LOUD. Ever live beside someone who loved watching these flicks all night - changes you perception on quiet guys quite quickly. Thankfully, the landlord evicted little Larry Flynt, but the noises remain burned in my ear.
One floor up was one of the city's most famous female sportscasters. She of the pretty face, and great knowledge of all sports - she could talk the talk as well. I watched her on TV all the time, and thought she was a hottie. One day in the laundry room, someone had left their lady garments in the dryer. Normally, I would remove them and place them in the laundry basket on top, but these lady garments were truly the "undergarments" guys like me should not see (or I guess be privileged to see). Sure enough, not seconds after I shut the dryer door, along comes our sportscaster, top speed, to collect her stuff. We exchanged pleasantries, and I thought to myself, our hot sportscaster lives just upstairs and likes to wear frilly undergarments - score! I would watch the newscast with much greater attention over the next few weeks.
One night, I hear noises from outside my window. Its dark, but I can see its our sportscaster coming in the back entry after another late night. Now I can smell drunk better than most, and she was sauced. She was trying to climb over the 3 foot fence - normally a weak challenge for most - but she was stuck on the fence, hanging from her pants. Some football sized dude was trying to heave her over the fence, but she was caught. As her pants ripped, she fell head first on my side, laughing the whole time. Biff came over afterwards, even more trashed than her. They would scamper through the door and upstairs, where now I hear the frolic that was not the kind of sports you broadcast. So my dreamy sportscaster was Slutty Susan, bring home stray athletes to prepare for next days airing, or whatever they were doing.
She would move out eventually (must not have liked having to be hoisted over the fence so much), and was replaced by "Chester and Edna", the horny seniors. Lets just say their bed springs were likely as old as they were, but got good use nonetheless. Beside me was the landlady, who was more of a Harley-biker chick, who seemed to like finding the skuzziest guy out there to bring home. One night, I overheard a screaming match in the hallway. One of the sentences I overheard, which I am typing verbatim - "you can keep beating me up, but please don't f**king leave me." Ummm. OK. How do you deal with that?
To be continued....
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