So it seems I have gone from Hot Paul to Not-So-Hot Harold. I have seen my new neighbor Harold once, maybe twice. I don’t know him all that well, but I do know that our sleep schedules don’t match all that well. A few times over the past few weeks I have been awoken late night by Harold hanging out on his terrace - sometimes alone and sometimes with a lady friend. As you may know, I am what most call a light sleeper. More relevant to this story is that I am the type to go to sleep at 10pm on a school night – I get up kind of early and a girl like me needs her beauty sleep. So a few of the times when Not-So-Hot Harold has been on his terrace smoking a cigarette and chatting loudly (both of which basically occur in my bedroom given how close his terrace is to my bedroom), I have thought my old-lady habits mean I can’t be annoyed by my neighbor’s normal habits (even if they do wake me up).
This weekend was a different story. On Friday night at 2:45am-ish I was awoken to Not-So-Hot Harold and a lady friend having deep conversation that included topics like “It is soooo great that you have this terrace.” As if this was not bad enough, they were smoking cigarettes and the smoke was wafting into my bedroom. So feeling lame, I fought my temptation to yell out the window “shut the eff up” and decided to start reading my book. I apparently fell asleep while reading my book because next thing I knew, it was 4:30am and Not-So-Hot Harold and his lady friend were having a (loud) adult moment on the terrace. As you might imagine, I did not go back to sleep after this. I did what any
normal person would do and brought my pillow out to the couch and watched the new Halston documentary while I sort of dozed.
As my day went on, I got more and more annoyed that I was exhausted and Not-So-Hot Harold was to blame. The only solution I could come up with was writing a neighborly note letting him know how close his terrace is to my apartment (see picture). And then I went out for the day and wondered what his response might be. Call me cynical, but I assumed he would ignore me or write back some mean note about how he could do whatever he wanted with his terrace. After talking to a few friends, I decided that my best plan of attack when Harold acted up again would be to open up my
window and lean out, cigarette* and drink in hand.
Turns out my clever planning was for nothing. When I got back home, I had a lovely note at my door offering sincere apology and promising the late night disturbance would never happen again. Also, his name is Fred.
*Not that I have those on hand.