Aside from all of the click-clacking that Lady did, she also drove me crazy in a different way. Apparently, someone hadn’t lived in an apartment building before and she would blast her music at all hours of the day and night. Literally, one night while studying for a midterm, I couldn’t hear myself think. So I jogged upstairs and pounded on her door for 20 minutes. I could hear her inside singing along and what sounded like dancing on her humongous heels but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear me. By the time she opened the door and I explained why I was about to kick her door in, I was beyond angry, beyond rage.

“Well, when are midterms over so I can listen to my music?” She demanded.

“You can listen to music whenever you want, just not so loud. Even after midterms are over, I still won’t want the music playing that loudly at 11pm.” The time at that moment? Closer to midnight.

“Well, at my house I always played my music like this and no one complained.” She said with a pout.

“I’m guessing no one lived under your house. But I can’t study or sleep with it that loud.”

“You know, I own the apartment building -” she began. Enough was enough.

“And I pay to live here. In my contract it says that there are no stated ‘quiet hours’ but that evey tenent is required to act in a way that does not disrupt other tenents. This is disrupting me. I have a legal right to a decent noise level in my home.” She turned down the noise that night, but a few nights later it was back up at ear jarring levels.

I could write about every noise incident, but that about sums it up. We had this same conversation once or twice a week for months. Eventually, I was rooting for her to buy a new house, if only to spare me from her. One night, she found out what it was like when you want someone to stop doing something but can’t force them to.

Our trash can was at the end of the parking lot near the back garden within our gated area. I heard some loud sounds like someone kicking the metal trash can, but didn’t think much of it. We had one of those industrial sized, gigantic trash cans so I thought that someone was heaving a lot of trash over the sides. I suppose Lady heard it too, which is why she headed downstairs only to find a man had crawled inside and was sorting through the trash looking for recyclables. I was drawn to the sounds of shouting. I did what anyone else would have done – I gathered up as much trash as I could find, fit it into my trash bag and headed outside to get an up close view of the action.

“You need to get out of the trash bin and leave. Now!” Lady screeched in her British accent, pacing, her heels clicking. For once it didn’t annoy me, it actually amused me.

“This trash has been thrown away. Nobody wants it. I’m allowed to go through trash to get my recycling. It’s allowed.” The man said, still tearing open trash bags and rifling through them.

“No, you can’t do this. You can’t go through trash!”

Actually, he can because the items have been discarded by their owners so it isn’t illegal. But I didn’t say that because I didn’t want to overtly take sides. I still had to live below her. I heaved my bag of trash in. “Just so you know, we recycle for the cash so there isn’t anything in there.” I said. He nodded and tipped his cap toward me. Nice guy. I briefly wondered if I should remind her that he walked through our gated entry and was therefore on private property. But I decided that the guy was doing a public service, plus her face was turning a mottled shade of red that was satisfying in a juvenile way.

Could I have told her that if she wanted to make an argument, she should tell him it was private property and he was tresspassing? Yes. Did I? Hell no. She still hadn’t learned that she couldn’t always have her way…