Saturday, September 12, 2015
Hey, Neighbor!
So we were awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of someone banging on something repeatedly. I thought maybe someone had gotten crafty at 4 AM and was hammering. Or that the concert at Wrigley had really devolved. But then that sound stopped and instead I heard the sound of things hitting the railings of the back decks repeatedly. At which point I looked outside and saw a man dressed only in boxer briefs using a broom to fling trash at the first floor deck. As I did not recognize him, I thought it best not to engage. And indeed all noise ceased shortly thereafter.
Today I came to find out that this near-nude individual was in fact a new neighbor. Our downstairs neighbor (the one with the pot and the super loud bass) had taken in a new roommate, who promptly locked himself out in the middle of the night and decided trash flinging was the means of his salvation. And when that failed, he broke the lock on the door from the garage into the building. So yeah, now we're down one door, but at least we have a nice collection of trash on our back decks.
It occurs to me that moving might not be the worst idea ever. Wrigleyville was super fun when I was 27, but it turns out I'm not 27 any more. I blame science, frankly.
So we were awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of someone banging on something repeatedly. I thought maybe someone had gotten crafty at 4 AM and was hammering. Or that the concert at Wrigley had really devolved. But then that sound stopped and instead I heard the sound of things hitting the railings of the back decks repeatedly. At which point I looked outside and saw a man dressed only in boxer briefs using a broom to fling trash at the first floor deck. As I did not recognize him, I thought it best not to engage. And indeed all noise ceased shortly thereafter.
Today I came to find out that this near-nude individual was in fact a new neighbor. Our downstairs neighbor (the one with the pot and the super loud bass) had taken in a new roommate, who promptly locked himself out in the middle of the night and decided trash flinging was the means of his salvation. And when that failed, he broke the lock on the door from the garage into the building. So yeah, now we're down one door, but at least we have a nice collection of trash on our back decks.
It occurs to me that moving might not be the worst idea ever. Wrigleyville was super fun when I was 27, but it turns out I'm not 27 any more. I blame science, frankly.
