Bedrooms in our condo are situated pretty much the same throughout the building. When an upstairs owner decides to eliminate carpet, what happens upstairs, does not stay upstairs. Our new upstairs neighbor is unaware her downstairs neighbors, through no fault of their own, can hear her nocturnal, amorous bedroom escapades. She does not know her antique bed frame exacerbates the staccato echo.
The first time this happened, we thought there was a tornado. We grabbed the cat and ran to the closet for shelter.
We are unwitting voyeurs pondering an appropriate way to handle this situation. Our new bedtime routine includes wondering if we should get out the ear plugs first or wait for the thumpa thumpa thumpa.
A dinner invitation, to include a tour of our unit, noting placement of our bed, might create an aha moment for the little lady.
We could bang on the ceiling, but that would be embarrassing and she would know that we “know”. As a subtle hint we could turn up the stereo and treat her to The 1812 Overture. From what was overheard by us there have been occasions when Bobby Vinton’s Mr. Blue should definitely be on the playlist.
Perhaps a circular, advertising a bang up (no pun intended) carpet sale might be an eye opener for her.
Judging from the sounds and duration of the upstairs activity a pack of cigarettes and bottle of wine left by the door might be a nice touch; a unique welcome wagon gift.
Maybe a tasteful advertisement explaining the benefits of Viagra would be appreciated. On second thought, that aid has the potential to make life intolerable for us.
We could, I suppose, check out whose car is in the parking lot. At the very least we would know if the agenda calls for Viagra or cigs.
This situation has the potential to become much worse. Yesterday I watched the local handyman remove carpet from our neighbor’s living room. I hope we still have that Riverdance video.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.