I've lived in my apartment for about three or four years now. Despite the neighborhood not always being the safest while also having to park my car in a garage two blocks away, I love my place. Sure, it's small, but the rent hasn't gone up since I moved in, so I'm actually now living in one of the cheaper units on the block. Sure, I have to walk up four flights of stairs multiple times a day, but I have a washer and dryer IN my unit. And no doubt there's other little issues and problems that arise all the time. But, the patio probably makes up for all of it. It's pretty decently sized and gets so much sun. My patio has been a literal source of vitamin D and an actual godsend during many months of lockdown. When I found this place, I knew it was a needle in a haystack and scooped it up quickly — despite that fact that it was out of my price range at the time. Until this year, I've never thought much of moving.
In November, a new tenant moved into the apartment and my perfect apartment has become a lot less of a dream come true. The week he moved in was the same week I got a cold from my nephew, who had been exposed to COVID at school. So, basically, there was a chance I also had COVID. Regardless, I was feeling pretty awful. My lovely new neighbor began blasting bass heavy music. Being after property management hours, I didn't quite know what to do. I couldn't go to his door and politely ask him to turn it down when I would potentially be exposing him to COVID. So, I did what the good people of the internet said to do and I knocked on the floor with a broom handle. Without delay, he knocked on his ceiling to reply. A clear "fuck off". I knew then and there that this neighbor was going to be an issue. But I didn't really fully know just how badly.
After complaining to the property management email a handful of times with no change, I got someone on the phone from Entourage. All in all, it was not a pleasant call. They told me I had to provide proof in the form of videos with his apt number in the frame because my complaints are empty because no one else in the building had complained. Do people make fake noise complaints a lot? Is that a thing? They also told me that due to the lockdown, everyone is home so they were taking noise complaints with a grain of salt. And lastly, they told me I could always call the cops. I thought that seemed extreme until this past weekend when I wound up calling the police twice.
Friday, Feb 5th: He was in rare form. The music was BUMPING. I think it was possibly louder than it's ever been before. So loud that even another tenant in apt 4 pounded on his door and asked him to turn it down. He didn't answer the door for her, but he sure did for the police. They told him to turn it down and while he did turn it down, I could still hear it. That's the power of bass. It cuts through everything. It's inescapable. It was quieter, but only in comparison to the insane level it was at.
Saturday, Feb 6th: The music started at about 9am. Bright and early. I had plans to go and see a couple apartments so I had to abandon Harvey in the prison of bass thumping. I got home around 7:30pm and I could hear some bass, but I couldn't hear a song. I figured, by his standards, he was keeping the music quiet. So, I went in my bedroom and I put on my white noise machine with my TV volume up loud and tried to block it out. But I couldn't. I just kept hearing it and it felt like I was hearing the same song over and over again. Like the exact same song. So, I went in the hallway and realized he had created a loop of bass sounds. He turned that on, cranked the sound, and he left. Well, I was pretty sure he had left since I didn't see any lights on and who could possibly stay in that apartment with that loop on? While I didn't think calling the police would do much good, I thought it best to keep a record of this stuff. And honestly, having the police come and validate my experience was a little nice. I live alone, so I have no one here to just commiserate with. Just having the policeman say that he heard it loop while he stood there knocking was very validating.
Long story short: my downstairs neighbor is a selfish asshole and my property management company took all of my videos and my police reports and my point out the line in the lease about noise that disturbs other tenants being a breach of agreement and replied, "We do apologize for this inconvenience, we will go ahead and contact that tenant to speak to him." And that's it. The next day, said tenant came home and played his music as loud as fuck just like any other day. And continues to do so.
And to add insult to injury, he also keeps his poor little dog shut out on his back patio and the poor thing cries and cries. Yet another breach of lease agreement, but who's counting?
So, now I'm in a rough spot. I love my apartment and I don't want to leave, but I don't know how much longer I can handle the psychological abuse I'm enduring living with a constant sound that I cannot control. Historically, I'm not great with repetitive noises. I can't block annoying sounds out and it raises my anxiety. Currently, all day long while I work and it's quiet below, I love my apartment again. I relax into it again and I start to hate all the apartment listings I loved the night before. But then the evening comes and my neighbor gets home and turns his stereo on and I'm right back to desperately scouring the internet for a new place.
But I'm not going to settle for just any place. It has to be an upgrade. I cannot throw away an apartment I love for a place that I just like. But fuck, it's going to be hard to find a place that's better than this one. Beyond all the stuff I listed in the opening of this rambling, ranting mess, this is my first apartment in California. I busted my ass to get it. I struggled a lot when I moved back in with my parents during my internship and subsequent unemployment following college. Getting this apartment restored some of the self esteem that I had lost. And bigger than that, this apartment is full of memories with Gizmo. Just walking around the block I can have multiple flashbacks to our thousands of walks around this neighborhood. And maybe hardest of all, Gizmo took his last breaths in this apartment. I don't want to leave the last place I ever held him. If I had a therapist, they might tell me it's unhealthy to want to hold onto a place because of grief, but that's grief. Or that's my grief. My grief causes me to hold on tight to anything I have left of them. Logic and grief do not work together. My brain knows he is not here, but my grief is terrified to leave and forget things, which is just the second death of loved ones. First, they leave the earth, then they leave our memories.
This is what one noisy neighbor has brought to my door.
