Ms. Single's Neighborhood: Won't You Be...My Neighbor?

Dear Neighbors:

A few nights ago, I sat down in my living room to work on the novel I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo challenge. Before I could make any real progress, I heard the familiar slamming of my next door neighbor's front door. I knew what that meant. They were fighting yet again. I've learned to recognize the familiar lans and grooves (pun intended) of their fighting ritual. It begins with yelling, proceeds to door slamming, and escalates to yelling inside and outside of the apartment while slamming both the front door and the screen door with every pass. If the neighbor across from me happens to be home, this is the point at which he'll yell, "Do you need me to call the police?" and they'll retreat quietly to the privacy of their own space to continue the fight..but much less noisily this time.

Things were much different this time. The fight didn't deescalate, the neighbor wasn't home to assist, and soon, I heard a male voice yelling, "I'll cut your throat, bitch!" and "I'll kill you, bitch" over and over again.

So I did what I considered to be the right thing and called 9-1-1. I realize that many people would just consider it to be none of their business and ignore the fight, but when it reached the point of threats and I could hear crying children, I'd had enough.

Besides, when I think of neighbors who fail to ask, I always think of those outrageous murders in which all of the bystanders became so desensitized that none thought to call the police. I would rather get it wrong and call the police than get it wrong and watch the bodies of my neighbors and their children taken out to an ambulance with no need for lights and sirens.

On that note, I realize it's time for me to move on from where I'm living and find someplace where I don't have to worry that my neighbors are going to be murdered. With that, I give you...

An Open Letter To My (physical) Neighbors

Dear Neighbors:

The past two years have been full of ups and downs. Well, if I were to be perfectly honest, more ups than downs. Wait -- I can't exactly remember any ups. So let's just say that I dread coming home and I look forward to leaving. Yep, that's about right. It's not the apartment itself; after all, we know that this place is a bit run down but that having a small backyard, two large bedrooms and a fireplace makes it worth it. Especially for the low rent, right? There are some things, however, that I just can't live with. Let me make a list for you.

Apartment #1:

I can appreciate that you're a single father trying to make a living while raising two teenagers. What I don't appreciate is that you work a swing shift and you're not there from the time they get home from school until the time they should be in bed. Know what your lovely children are doing while you're at work? Your daughter is coming over to ask if she can use my cell phone to call you. Instead, she's calling her boyfriend in L.A.. What? You didn't know she had a boyfriend, much less in Los Angeles? Huh...I can't imagine why not. You'll be pleased to know that I no longer allow her to use my cell phone to "call you" anymore.

As for your son, he asked me a few months ago if he could use my laptop to access Facebook. I told him no. He asked for money to catch the bus to go to "church". I said no. He asked for a ride. Again, no. The other day, he asked for my wireless password, to which I responded, "No. Absolutely not," before proceeding to change my SSID to "GetYourOwnWiFiAssholes". That ought to do the trick. You might also want to know that when you're not home, your kids are blasting the WORST RADIO STATION EVER, 99.1, at top volume. I hope you're making a decent living, because your kids are learning how to play when Daddy's not home.

Apartment #2:

I find it impressive that you can fit so many people into a two-bedroom apartment. I'm less impressed that all of those people need to do laundry and none of them can find the time to do laundry during the week. Your household creates a stopgap that requires me to move your collective laundry from the washer to the dryer to on top of the dryer...to on top of the clothes that are already on top of the dryer...and if any of you were capable of speaking and understanding English, I would share this message with you personally.

Apartment #3:

Yes, it's tough. You have lots of kids and no husband (anymore) to help with raising them or paying the bills. So you're stuck in the welfare rut. I get that. What drives me up the wall is that you seem to think that I should help you out with everything. In the past two years, you've asked me for the following things multiple times:

money (with some convoluted story attached)
a ride for your daughter to school (convoluted story)
a ride to the liquor store
babysitting
advice
internet access
ingredients for the meal you're making

It's gotten to the point where I avoid answering the door if I know it's you. I even have an approaching-the-door ritual:

Grimace when I hear the knock at the door.
Grimace and mutter obscenities when you continue to knock.
Tiptoe oh-so-carefully to the peephole to confirm that it is, indeed, you.
Tiptoe away from the door and continue to avoid answering it.
Breathe a sigh of relief when you finally walk away.

I'm not saying I don't want to help you if you really need it. What I'm saying is, get a job and maybe some of your problems will disappear.

Apartments 4, 6:

Seriously. Thanks for not being a pain in my ass.

Apartment #5:

You moved in while I was housesitting for a friend. I don't know anything about you except for the goodies you left in the space next to my driveway/garage: