hack hack hack!
The New Neighbor Guy —
Cannot talk.
He. Yells.
Domestic Violence Guy may have turned his TV up way way too loud and he may have shouted obscenities early Sunday mornings but the rest of the time you could not hear him talking because hello he was actually capable of talking in normal human tones.
This guy, I should get some modal analysis equipment in here and see if his voice is violating airport sound ordinances.
Seriously. His voice is so loud and so piercing I could transcribe the conversations verbatim:
“I can tell you’re not a lawyer, you’re like me!”
[Jeez pity the other guy’s neighbor.]
And he COUGHS. Every day. All day. This huge horking cough. It is a shakes the walls cough. It starts in the morning. And it goes ALL DAY. It is not even a smoker’s cough. Smoker’s cough only hits people when they wake up. This cough goes until he drops. HACK HACK HACK!
Shouting: “For three fucking years I did that!” HACK HACK HACK! “My wife!” HACK HACK HACK! “I said no way!” HACK HACK HACK! “One eye open one eye closed!” HACK HACK HACK!
What the hell is that cough? Is that T.B. or something? Shouldn’t he be in a ward somewhere recovering?
Jeez maybe I better Lysol the hall.
19 Responses to hack hack hack!
I can’t stand living in apartment complexes. I don’t wanna smell what you’re having for dinner; I don’t wanna hear your stupid arguments about who cleans the litter box; I don’t wanna hear your crappy music or you stomping around the house…….!
maybe I’ve just had bad experiences. I think I get too claustrophobic living around that many people that I don’t know. Just me. Nice blog.
Oh, god. It almost sounds like you live near me: I have all these Chinese retirement homes around me, and if there is a group of people on Earth who can give the Americans a run for their money volume-wise, it’s the Cantonese. And the spitting…gah! These tiny, ninety year old grannies can hock a loogie like a Pacific oyster, but twice as poisonous. And this is what I wake up to every morning.
Henceforward, he should be known as TB Guy. I despise when his comrades enter the Library. Sorry. :-(
Better not shake his hand.
I’ve still got “Jogger Who Hasn’t Found The Front Door Yet Guy” above me, so I know how you feel. You have my sympathy dear.
In my first apartment out of college, I actually had a drunk dude attempt to enter my place thinking it was his (he was off by an entire floor). Kind of unsettling to wake up to a key rattling in my lock at 1 a.m.
Max, silly girl. I am going to have to school you on the ways of the illicit drug culture…those are not ciggie hacks he’s making…THAT IS THE SOUND OF POOKIE LIGHTING HIS CRACK PIPE!
RAIN those little Chinese grannies are spitting out khat.
I think I spelled that right.
Gee I think I know a little too much about toxic habits lol
Oh no.
[you know he is coughing right now and I am just sitting here paralyzed and creeped now right?]
[surely no one could smoke that much crack — I mean this is all day from sunrise to sunset — and be alive?]
If we’re swapping stories (ref, dailytri above) — the sage of one of my graduate school roommate comes to mind (lets call him Nevs). Nevs was a football player, and a bit larger than the average Iowa silo. His life was drinking, never bathing, and arriving at our room at odd hours, occasionally accompanied by girls named Gert and Bambi. One night Nevs miscounted the identical size and color dorms at the University of Missouri graduate housing, loped into the wrong building, and went into what would have been the right room on the second floor if his math had been better. When Nevs found someone in his bed, a fight ensued and he bodily threw the guy out of his own room, then going to sleep in the guy’s bed. When Nevs woke up realized his mistake and found the guy dozing in the student lounge where he tried to apologize. Nevs said the guy became hysterical when he saw him and was just not into control of himself — so he decided to just forget about it. Nevs went on to successful career as a football coach. But then he would, wouldn’t he.
I did something a little like that once but I do not want to dispel my delicate flower image so maybe that is a story for another day or, um, no day.
The time someone slipped me roofies I apparently became convinced that the apartment building was a Georgian mansion and that it belonged to me. I was terribly confused by all the Chinese people in it, who were vastly amused and willing to play along, but my friends just told me “oh, they’re refugees and you’ve given them the east wing” and then I went to bed secure in the knowledge that I was at least a benevolent nouveau riche.
SG: I don’t think you can get khat here. They apparently believe that phlegm is even more disgusting on the inside of the head than the outside, and just hork it up at all opportunities. The cops have started handing out $175 fines for spitting on the sidewalk, and as a sandal buff I say yay.
Max, YES – People can and do smoke that much crack! But maybe just for sh1ts and giggles I’ll google “How Much Crack In 24 Hours Can One Inhale Before You Keel Over”
Another day though. I’ve got nine dollars left on this ridiculously overpriced net machine.
Wait! … you went into the wrong room, a fight ensued and you threw someone out of their own room? Well, Max: This is a story that simply cannot wait for another day.
And, umm, err … I’m thinking I ought to continue to dine at the opposite end of the table at the monthly luncheons.
Well not exactly like that.
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