How hard is it? Apparently, very hard, because wow, so many people are assholes.
We all should have the right to live our lives as we see fit, but when your living takes away another’s rights, you need to slow your roll. Step back, bish.
Back when I first moved into the apartment building I live in (almost 5 years ago), I was introduced to the unwritten “rules” and considerations of the building. Those rules were, basically, “Don’t Be An Asshole”. It seemed pretty simple. Common sense, ya know?
- Don’t run your vacuum at 3:00 AM
- Keep prostitute visits to a minimum
- Don’t leave your shit-stained underwear in the shared washer for hours, because… I shouldn’t have to explain why
- Due to the paper thin walls, try to muffle your screams/moans
- Take your damn garbage out…or remove the dead body from the premises
- A Non-Smoking building MEANS YOU DON’T SMOKE IN YOUR APARTMENT
- Don’t slam your doors like a spoiled-brat child
- If you’re deaf, maybe music isn’t for you
- In case you weren’t previously aware, you are not the only tenant in a single family home-THIS IS A SHITTY APARTMENT BUILDING
The reason these rules are especially important where I live is because the building was built in the 60’s, during a time when properties were mass-produced, hastily. Not to mention, the landlord won’t even fix a leaking toilet. Mix it all up, for a very special poop-flavored smoothie, and you have a building where when your neighbor sneezes, you say, “Bless you” and they respond, “Thank you, Katie.” These considerations are integral to the functionality of the building and the sanity of the tenants.
For almost four glorious years, I lived here in peace. The other tenants were older, quiet, and almost hermit-like. It was the ideal life. I was never woken from my sleep. I never had to say to my neighbors, “So, um last night…for three straight hours…”
I almost forgot that I had any neighbors. It was how it should be. My neighbors and I abided by those unspoken, “Don’t Be a Dick” rules. Because, we weren’t dicks.
Now, I’ve had to deal with crappy neighbors, one after the other.
I don’t recall ever being taught, specifically, about how to be kind to my neighbors, but it was taught. It was taught when I was yelled at for blasting Bush at 11 PM on a school night. It was taught when I was reprimanded for putting my dirty dishes outside my bedroom door, for someone else to deal with. My dirty dishes found their way back on my bed, with a note, “This isn’t the Hilton.” That did it. It was taught when my dad threatened to pull the plug on a raucous slumber party, with phone and car keys in hand. That’s all it took. It was taught.
Not only was it taught, I was witness to my parents being decent fucking people. When we saw people being creeps in public, my parents pointed out why it wasn’t decent behavior. Living in this day and age, I had an endless amount of learning opportunities.
This rant is for the assholes who live a paper-thin wall away from me and for all the other people who aren’t aware that they aren’t the CENTER OF THE EFFING UNIVERSE. Look around, open your eyes, it isn’t all about you.