I’ve come to a decision.
And here it is:
THE PEOPLE UPSTAIRS HAVE TO MOVE.
They HAVE to.
Here’s what happened: one lovely morning, I went out onto the balcony to drink a cup of coffee and find my zen so I could, you know, face the workday with some sort of centered calm.
Closed my eyes.
Deeeeeeeeep inhale. Slow exhale. ZENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.
Sip coffee. Smile. Open eyes.
Happen to glance down at car.
Zen squeaks in fear and dashes away as I am FILLED WITH RAGE.
Why? You ask in alarm. What could you POSSIBLY have seen?
Here’s what I saw:
A cigarette butt that had been tossed – still lit – onto the hood of my car.
Which could have come from ONLY one place.
THE STORM TROOPERS.
I marched upstairs and pounded on their door. The noisy fella – the one who’s always on the phone on HIS balcony – answered. I appeared to have awakened him.
“Hi,” I chirped. “I live below you. You – or a member of your household – threw a cigarette butt onto my car. This is not acceptable.”
“How do you know it was me?” he smirked, apparently unaware that I have a history of smirk-wiping.
“Well,” I said sweetly, “I know it wasn’t ME. I know it wasn’t the people BELOW me, since their apartment is below street level and tossing a butt out their window up ONTO the hood of my car would be a feat indeed. I also know that they don’t smoke. So logic and physics point to you.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I rolled right over him.
“I also deduced it from the fact that the soda bottle you’ve BEEN putting your butts in is on the ground in FRONT of my car, where it’s been since it blew off your balcony a couple of days ago. See, what I’ve noticed about you is that you’re a slob, and you don’t care about anyone’s things. Not your own, not anyone else’s. I don’t care if you don’t care about your stuff, but I do care VERY much about mine. What you did? Is not okay.”
“Uh,” he said.
“Also, so you know, I won’t be calling the building manager today. But let me tell you – when you piss me off again? AND YOU WILL, because between the constant noise, the ridiculous behaviour, the running the truck for twenty minutes every morning – and what’s that about? You don’t have to warm a truck up IN THE SUMMER, you’re RIDICULOUS – and the beer cans and such that you throw off your balcony? You’re not a great neighbor OR tenant. So – cut the crap. Clean up your mess. And I won’t have to report you for sucking at life. Are we good?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said. I think he was in shock.
“Have a nice day!” I said sweetly.
They’ve shaped up. Kind of.
But I’m hoping their month to month lease is over soon.