The Only Good Upstairs Neighbor....

is no upstairs neighbor.

New upstairs neighbors moved in a few weeks ago. Although we would have preferred maintaining the status quo (ie, no upstairs neighbors) we were happy to see two young, American ladies. I believe in immigration and I love meeting people who have come here from other lands. Heck, I'm planning to become an ESL teacher. However, there are certain logistical problems with a band of immigrants living over your head: 1. Because of finances, too many people may be stuffed into the same tiny apartment; 2. No two people will have the exact same start-time of their night shift. The result is thousands of feet stomping over your head all night.

At least we never had to call 911 because of the Immigrants Upstairs.

We used to have annoying downstairs neighbors, too: The Dudes. The Dudes were likely potheads, and would crank uo the volume of their videogame and/or party at disconcerting times, like 2:30 AM. When I repeatedly explained that quiet time began at 10 PM, they would make it clear that they were usually too stoned to read a clock by asking me to call them if they were making noise at inappropriate, slumbering times of the night. To their credit, The Dudes were always profoundly apologetic and immediately quieted themselves once it was brought to their foggy attention that maybe they were being a smidgen loud at 2:30 AM.

But we never had to call 911 at 2:30 AM because of The Dudes.

Before the Immigrants Upstairs, there were Other Immigrants Upstairs who had stuffed so many people in their little apartment that they would climb the fire escape at all hours of light and darkness to access their domicile. You see, there are just not enough keys for 20-30 people in one apartment.

Come to think of it, we've never called 911 because of our neighbors before, no matter how obnoxious their behavior.

We had some warning signs from the new neighbors, cigarette butts tossed on the lawn next to fly-covered cans of Red Bull.

Still, we never thought it would come to this.

Their party was loud, but they confined it to the end of the apartment where we couldn't hear it from our bedroom.

Until 2:30 AM.

At which time, giant! crashes! Like never heard before! A woman's voice, yelling: Take it outside! A man's voice, roaring: I'm gonna kill these guys!

BANG! CRASH! BANG! THUD! Ka-ZAAM! Ka-POW!

The dispatcher's voice, calmly: What is your emergency, ma'am? My voice, groggily: People are fighting in the apartment upstairs.

It seemed like an eternity of crashing and rolling and thudding and banging until quiet was restored. The cats were very alarmed, poor furry dears.

At least, in an odd way, we are lucky that their behavior was so violently inappropriate as to necessitate a 911 call. Nip it in the bud.

My voice, in slight wonderment: The dispatcher asked if I heard any weapons. I didn't. Did you? G's voice, groggily: I think their only weapon is alcohol.