Preash: The destined confrontation finally goes down!

One of my very first posts to Preash was "Complaint Box: take your damn kids outside"



Basically, a family is living in the 1-bedroom apartment directly over me. Two little kids, a mom, and (from what I can surmise) the mom's father. The kids run around alot, and it is loud.

I made a formal complaint to the management a few months ago, and since then the noise has been a little bit better.

Tonight, the kids were getting extremely crunk. I banged on the ceiling once, to let them know it was bothersome. An hour later, it was still poppin' upstairs, so I banged again.


Hook 'em.

Then I heard their door open, and people walking downstairs. Oh shizzle, Mac 'bout to drizzle.

A knock. Of course Boone started barking, so I trapped him in the bedroom. Then I opened the door.

It was the mom and the grandfather. He was a short, almost bald Indian man with glasses, probably in his early 60's. She was probably about my height (she was standing on the 1st step, so who knows), with glasses. They were both very nice-looking.

Before I could even say hello, the grandpa pulled back and literally spit in my face.

No, actually he didn't, you dummy.

Grandpa said, very kindly and apologetically, "Sorry to bother, we heard a knocking from below...are we making too much noise or...?" His English wasn't that smooth, but I don't know how to approximate it without being offensive. Basically, he was speaking more with body language than he was with the English language.

I said, "Yes, that was me. I wanted to let you know that it was kinda loud up there..."

All parties, including myself, were very smiley and apologetic and understanding. Until I pulled out my glock.

Didn't fall for that one, huh?

They apologized and then the mom asked, "Is it the voices, or is it the children stomping?"

I said it definitely wasn't voices, it must have been the kids. (I was pulling the "Oh, I didn't know you had kids, I just thought y'all were some rambunctious motherf-ckers" card.)

She said she was sorry and that the kids are shut inside all day on account of the cold weather, and she tells them to "seet down, be quiet...but 5 meenoots later, they arr back up again".

I must reiterate, this was all very light and upbeat, and even a little happy.

So basically, they asked if they could give me the mom's number so I could call her directly whenever it got too loud again (btw - her name is Anuja. [ah-NOO-shah] I was very proud of myself for pronouncing it back to her just as she had said it...I hope they were, too.)

I took down her number and gave them mine. I said, "Here's my number, too. My name is Ryan...I know I probably turn up my stereo too loud from time to time." See, tit for tat.

Click to enlarge

As you can see, I was confused as to whose number would be written down first. Also, my pen hates y's.

In the end, we got to know each other better, commiserated about the cold weather/apartment life, and created a direct connection should problems ever arise in the future.

Also, I gotta give them props for having the balls to come down and confront the unknown, disgruntled neighbor. I would never have the chutzpah. I'd probably just seethe and cut myself to watch me bleed. (That's a joke, mom)

Baby, Anuja were the one from the day I metcha.



BONUS
I found this picture via Google image search while trying to find a more suitable one. It may just be my favorite picture of all time, ever, until the end of time.

giant-baby.jpg - Does it get any better than that!?