I was reading Crazy Aunt Pearl before church today and it really got me to remembering my life. I was even inspired to comment. In her post she talks about her neighbors next door, the yellers, people who she can hear yelling inside their home. This got me thinking about places I used to live and how I have lived next to yellers quite consistently.
In my early 20’s I lived in a small suburb of Pittsburgh called Bridgeville, its a quiet peaceful little town that makes you think you’re living in a small town when you are conveniently located 15 minutes from downtown. It was peaceful, quiet, and everyone was polite. I used to live next to the Catholic school, so the most racket I had in a day was the kids walking back and forth to school. I lived in a brick duplex house at the end of a turn around alleydrive kind of street. Everything was so peaceful that I even planned on raising my then someday children there.
Then Steve and Fucking Jade moved in next door.
My landlords used to live in the other side of the duplex so it was a surprise when they movied out and rented out the other side. The new tenants were Steve and his wife/girlfriend Fucking Jade. I honestly believe that F’ing Jade was her god given name as I never heard her referred to as anything other than that, and never heard the Jade without the F’ing before it… it’s true. Within a week of moving in they started arguing and such. This became a problem for me as in a duplex you have a single wall seperating the two homes. I could hear them walking up and down their steps and moving around their kitchen. What was worse was that if I sat in my bathroom I could hear everything that was going on next door as if it were in my own home…. their bathroom and my bathroom were seperated only by the back of the medicine cabinet (I had discovered this after I first moved in and I had thought there was somebody in my bathroom when I came home and heard noises… so I called the cops only to discover it was my landlady in her own apartment looking for aspirin). So week two found them arguing at 2am and still arguing at 7am when I had to wake up, needless to say I slept terribly. They continued to argue well past when I left, as reported to me by my then roomate, Timmy Etch-a-sketch. The next night the same thing happened, and the next night, and the next night. So that well into the beginning of week 3, Timmy and I were suffering from lack of sleep because Steve and F’ing Jade were having “issues”. By the fourth night of constant all night arguing, we could no longer take it anymore and called the cops.
It was quiet for a week or so and then it would start again. It actually escalated to people being pushed against the walls and screaming. I ended up calling the cops on average about 3 times a month. One night there was throwing of people against walls, her screaming for the cops, him screaming she broke his glasses, her screaming he was hurting her arm, then him screaming that she stabbed him with scissors. Needless to say I called the cops. Then the next night it would start all over again. Frustrated, Timmy and I set up my radio in the bathroom… perched it on the sink facing the medicine cabinet, turned it to max volume, and played U2’s “With Or Without You” for 3 hours straight. When we turned it off it was quiet for the rest of the night.
One day, Timmy and I were doing the let’s- yell- an- entire- conversation- from- different- rooms- on- different- floors- rather- than- get- off- our- asses- and- get- in- the- same -room- thing ( I was 23… what do you want from me?), then Timmy left to go to work and I was home alone. I was in my room sewing (which was awesome at the time since if I was sewing I couldn’t hear anything but the machine and whatever came out of my CD player headphones) and my doorbell rang. So I went downstairs and answered…. it was the cops!! They asked if I was okay and that there were reports that I was being abused and was screaming for help. If you can imagine I was standing there, holding my pug dog, all by myself in the house and I was reportedly being abused. I told the cops that I was fine, it was just me and the dog, and that they were welcome to search my house to see that I was indeed alone. I did admit that Timmy and I had yelled to each other from seperate floors earlier but that was hours ago. My immediate thoughts were that Steve and F’ing jade had called the cops in revenge since its a big deal in the neighborhood if the cops show up at your door. So while his partner searched through my house for signs of abuse and a man to provide the abuse, the cop I was talking to called back to the station only to discover………. they went to the wrong apartment. I was 709B, they had wanted 709A which was……………….[insert drumroll here]……………..Steve and F’ing Jade’s apartment. Apparently, since I couldn’t hear anything over the CD player and sewing machine one of my neighbors called the cops that Steve and F’ing Jade were once again stabbing each other.
A month later I moved out of that apartment.
A year later I move to wear I am living now, but that is a story for another day…. highlights to include:
The dead old lady next door
Marital Disharmony in the house behind me
The Inner City Hillbillies
and Stephieface’s new rules of cop calling.