August 29, 2010

State Farm's got nothing on this neighbor

Let's add "good neighbor" to my life resume, shall we?

Oh, you want to know what constitutes a good neighbor? Well alright. How about we start with having to live below the "
doin' it crew." This is a term, coined by the Prah's who also have this issue, which refers to two people engaged in sexual activity at a decibel loud enough to be heard by the neighbors. Living under a "doin' it crew" means you just get to experience the whole thing a little more intensely. But since this activity is normal in nature, I don't hold this against them or slip notes under their door to politely (or not so politely) request that their love maybe not be expressed at 3am on a Tuesday. See? Good Neighbor.

Or cleaning the lint out of the dryer after I take my clothes out so that it is ready to go for the next person. Interesting that I also must do this BEFORE I put my clothes in. Who do you think removes the lint, neighbors? The Lint Fairy?

The building has a janitor who comes by weekly and picks up, changes light bulbs, etc... but does it really take all that much effort to get your junk mail into the waste paper basket that they provide? I've walked into my vestibule some nights and wondered if the postman didn't throw himself a ticker tape parade in it. And on a separate note to all the restaurants hiring people to walk around and rubber band their menus to doorknobs and gate handles.....really this is a terrible waste of resources. They don't make it into the apartments, just end up littering the floor or the sidewalk until someone gets sick of looking at them and throws them away. There's this thing called the Internet, you should really re-allocate your efforts online. I promise you, even if you drop off a menu, if I can't order online, I'll choose one of the other nine Thai places I can. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the free rubber bands.

Then there's the recently new efforts of picking up bottle caps, cigarette butts, match books, Cheetos and the occasional Miller Lite can on Sunday mornings. This I don't mind as it's nice to have neighbors that know my name and whom I enjoy their company. Since one in particular is a recent college graduate, the transition from the college living to post college living (aka the "jobby job life") isn't totally mastered yet; he's in the adjustment period and things look like they are settling (mah baby's growing up!). Until early this morning.

I made the very adult decision to turn in for the night (it was well before 11 o'clock....on a Saturday!) because I was basically asleep on the couch -- though the one side of me would argue I was just resting my eyes -- and so I tried making it seem to my other half that we were going to utilize Sunday morning and accomplish a great many things before the rest of the city even scrambled their eggs. And by "scramble their eggs" I actually mean breakfast. Except for the upstairs neighbors which then I mean, REALLY LOUD SUNDAY MORNING WAKE-UP SEX.

I fell right to sleep and so when there was a very loud knocking on the kitchen door I was totally disoriented, freaked out and a little pissed off. And when it didn't stop I figured it was either:
a) morning
b) an emergency
c) a really stupid criminal
d) one of my neighbors home from the bar and not ready to go to bed

If you answered 'D' you would be half correct. If you answered 'B' you would be more correct.

The young neighbor was very adamantly asking me to open the door and I assured him (through the bedroom window which faces the same side as the back stoop) that I heard him and was working on it. Unbeknownst to him, I was trying to untangle the sheets, find my glasses and put on acceptable amounts of cl----I've started to sleep less involved, so I was trying to find my pants.

When I finally got to the door he was standing there bare chested with a tee shirt wrapped around his wrist and the palm of his hand bloody. He had had an altercation with a glass bottle and needed me.........not to dress his wound, or drive him to the hospital.....the words he used were, "I need you to cut this flap of skin for me."

Wait, what did you just say? I surely must still be asleep or there must be sleep still in my ears because I swear I heard you say you needed me to REMOVE A FLAP OF SKIN?! Oh, that is what you said? Are you F'ING CRAZY?! But as this past year has taught me many things, I am capable of a lot more than I thought. I do actually keep a level head, as long as it's not MY blood.

I'll save you the details but after arguing the pros of going to urgent care, I acquiesced and (ahem...) "dressed the wound." Since I am a worrier and a planner at my core, I made him promise to sit on the stoop with me for fifteen minutes so I could see if it was done bleeding. The last thing I wanted to add to my Sunday morning clean-up was a pool of congealed blood. Don't worry mom friends, I also made him promise me that we would re-evaluate it in the morning.

While I didn't get to start the Sunday morning the way I had promised my other half, I think the thrill of it satisfied her. It's good to be needed.

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