When I first moved into my one-bedroom apartment in this building, back when i was living with Mike, we had this upstairs neighbor. She was this tiny little woman in her 40s I’d say – not tiny as in frail, just very very compact. Also hyperactive; I was never sure whether she was on methamphetamines or just naturally that perky. Either way, she was mostly harmless, unless you let her corner you in the foyer, in which case you might well be trapped for hours while she chattered away. And get this: her job? CTA bus driver. Drove the route, in fact, that passed right by our building. So she worked some odd hours. I can’t remember her name right now, so we’ll call her Mary.
Mary had one super-annoying habit – well, more of an addiction, really, I suppose. Every night, for at least 2 hours, she would put on WBEZ’s Smooth Jazz. Loud. Like, so loud my windows rattled. So loud I could feel the bass throbbing through my sofa. Very, very loud. We put up with it, though, because we weren’t home in the evenings very often, and besides, she was always really nice about it when we saw her in the hallway. “If my music’s ever too loud, you just come on up and let me know, ok?” And we always wondered how anyone could fail to think that music was too loud, but like I said, she was so nice about it that we never bothered her – besides, with a job like hers and a temperament like hers, you never really knew when she might snap.
Mary eventually moved out and was replaced by a lesbian couple. They weren’t particularly neighborly – the most you’d get out of them is a mumbled greeting on the way up or down the stairs. They, too, had an annoying habit – it’s just I’m not so sure what it was. On a fairly regular basis, though on no discernible schedule, suddenly our ceiling would begin to shake. Nothing rhythmic enough to suggest, say, step aerobics or jumping rope or an olympic size trampoline or sex or anything. Just thumping. Really loud. For about an hour. And then silence. No music, either. I left this mystery behind me, eventually, when I moved to a larger apartment on the other side of the building.
Over the years, I’ve had some dodgy neighbors on this side, too. I’m on the top floor now, so mercifully my ceilings don’t shake anymore, but the big gay dance club downstairs sometimes served as odd accompaniment on movie nights, and one time they got out the Tina Turner when I was having a poker party. The kids across the hall last year used to throw these unbelievably massive out of control parties – I’m pretty sure they were college students – and fairly frequently drunk guests would get turned around and try coming into my place. I remember scaring the shit out of one of them once: I happened to look out my peephole (trying to figure out how in the hell they managed to jam the 50 people into the hallway that it would take to make that unholy racket) to see this dude reaching for my doorknob. Quick as lighting, I unlocked the door and opened it. He almost fell over into my foyer. “Can I help you?” I asked, with a cheerful smile. He stammered and backed away. I can only assume he wasn’t a fan of the clay mask and blue polarfleece bathrobe look.
Anyway, I don’t remember seeing anyone move in or out in the past month, but Across The Hall has a new musical fetish, it seems. And it sounds remarkably like – wait for it – yes, Smooth Jazz. So I’ve come full circle.
D’you reckon this is a sign from the baby jebus that it’s time for me to move?