"She's crazy. And just when you think you've reached the bottom of her craziness , there's a crazy underground garage."
This all started because all I wanted was to be able to sleep without a constant loud annoying noise.
No world peace. No hugging it out. No hand slapping with the words nice job said through clenched teeth.
Just 8 hours of silence.
But apparently that's too much to ask for.
I'm a nice person. I recycle. I don't have energy to be mean to people. I don't play my music loud at night or early in the morning. I would like to think that I am a good neighbor. So when this whole fan situation started I tried to work with fan lady. I talked to her. I gave her a fan. I gave her candles.
Apparently being neighborly meant I will still continue to use my fan constantly though it annoys my neighbors. With no changes I finally resorted to talking to my landlord. Who was quite aware of the situation from all the other neighbors. After talking to the landlord fan lady started avoiding me at all cost. Who knew Jazzies were so fast? I said hi to her at the mail box and she amped that jazzy to the fastest setting and drove out of there trying to avoid my glance. I may or may not have yelled "Oh you better run!". After which she wouldn't answer the door. Wouldn't look at me. Which really didn't hurt my feelings.
It was after three weeks of constant noise I started fantasizing about blowing up Jazzies. To give you perspective I'm hearing impaired. Even with earplugs I can still hear it. It's that loud. So in an act of teenage huffiness I started walking around my apartment with my 50 pound weights. Every step drop the weights pick them up drop them. Keep in mind this was at 5:30 am. (What? I said I was nice not Mother freaking Teresa.) I finally started sleeping at my mother's and grandparents to just get some sleep. Since I didn't want to pay them rent I moved all my bed room furniture into my living room just so I could get away from the fan. Cause as attractive as dark circles under your eyes are not all of us can go to work looking like Ke$ha.
Last week after 2 months of awfulness I finally caved and called the cops. She didn't even answer the door. For the police. So on Monday after a long talk with the landlord they decided to take the fan out. Fan lady was going to be demoted to just crazy lady. So when I got home from work for the first time in months there was silence.
And I may or may not have done a happy jig and posted this status up on facebook "After two weeks of no sleep, constant irritation, and odd fantasies of blowing up Jazzies my landlord promised me that he would remove the fan from the lady below. Shedding tears of joy folks. Shedding tears of joy.
I was so excited to go to bed without noise I went to bed early.
Apparently I celebrated too soon. Facebook status "Guess who installed another fan? You guessed it. I have PTFD Post traumatic fan disorder. " I was pissed. Royally. Not only had I moved my bed back but I thought I had won the war. Apparently I was wrong. I just pushed in my ear plugs and called my landlord. (If I'm this annoyed somebody else going to be too.)
So last night after going for a run in the snow, finding out my weight now qualifies me to be a Biggest Loser contestant I was not in a pleasant mood.
When this lovely surprise was slipped under my door with a smily face sticker on the seal of the envelope. The full letter.
" The Keir Co. maintenance installed a "new" ceiling fan in my bathroom. If it disturbs you (sounds just as noisy to me) PLEASE call the police I could use some additional documentation on the air quality of this building specifically my apartment. I wouldn't have to turn on the fan if my apartment wasn't full of smoke, cigerettes and other.
Thanks so much.
At this point I don't know what to do. I'm open to any suggestions.
The saga continues...