I’m living in an apartment with a very thin roof. Or at least that’s what the fact, that I can hear everything that the nighbours are doing, is telling me.
For your interest I can tell you that the country is Poland, and that’s where the problem starts.
Since the apartments are owned by private parties this means that the apartment owners (the landlords) pretty much can do whatever they want.
In my case a landlord has put a bunch of loser adolescents above my roof that play their little orchestra without respect to the time of the day. It doesn’t matter whether they’re good or not since it’s a disturbance. Violins, guitars, floor stomping, recording equipment, amps, drums, keyboards, multiple vocalists etc. You name it, they have it. And they suck monkey balls in what they’re doing, or not doing. What they are doing is to be a nuicance, which they’re talented at, which I guess is the reason that their parent’s must’ve thrown them out for. What they’re not doing is playing good music.
This is legal in Poland. Making a helluva lot of ruckus, that is. It doesn’t matter how loud, as long as the apartment isn’t trashed, even the local Police force stand helpless before these hippie bastards. So far I’ve had to accept the fact that it’s bearable during the day.
But still, that’s not where the problematic and childhood-neglected imbecils stop. First they kept rehearsing past 10 PM (past that time one is obliged to keep quiet) and then they started to have parties, with or without music (but with a lot of alcohol and quite possibly weed*) and with a lot of running down the hallways in high heels. Luckily, the Police suddenly gains power when the clock ticks past 10 PM, so I was able to call for reinforcements and shut them up. Justice was served, schmucks! I even called the Police when the donkey-boy hippe rehearsed his guitar and stomped as if he was getting a rectoscope up his behind, which was the last time they played their instruments late at night. But they still party, though, and I intend to call up the long arm of the law to cast their wrath over them.
* I smelled the sweet and characteristic smell of incinerated marijuana once when they had parked their fat asses on the bench outside my window. And they laugh pathologically every night as they gather around their “camp fire”, if you know what I mean.
I might seem evil to you. Well, I’m not, so stop judging before the story has ended.
I can take a weekend party or two a month, but when these bastard children play day after day, all while disregarding which day of the week it is, well that brings my blood to a boil. Especially when I’ve reached out to them to make them stop. Even their landlord, allegedly a friend of Hades, claims “never to have heard of such a thing”.
Bloody lying money-greedy asshole. The rent he recieves every month is as dirty as blood money.
After many talks and tries to quench their stupidity I was told that nothing could be made (well that’s obvious when Satan’s favourite Landlord, which by the way resides in Poland, openly denies the blatant truth) unless the Police itself decides to evict the monkey-breeds. Which they haven’t yet, 10 phonecalls later. It’s a matter of time, I guess, but maybe I’ll contact a Polish friend which might somehow, together with the Police records, make it easier for the landlord to evict his dear turds.
Let’s end this post with a Martian Oddity quote:
“When you can hear your neighbour taking a piss, be reassured that the walls are too frickin’ thin.”