The Heckles' Lament

My boyfriend and I are bad neighbors.

We wreak havoc throughout our condo building, disturbing the peace and upsetting the quiet, happy existence of everyone in the place. Or at least one couple.

For purposes of anonymity, and as an homage to a similar character on Friends, I'll call them Mr. and Mrs. Heckles.

Mr. and Mrs. Heckles -- a greasy looking guy with a permanent scowl and his quiet, dutiful, most likely submissive wife -- live in the condo below ours. They're in their 50s but would seem much older but for their sharp sense of hearing. And they've hated my boyfriend since before he even bought the place.

I guess they could tell right off the bat that he'd be a bad neighbor.

He first encountered Mr. Heckles on his first viewing of the unit. Our future favorite neighbor came outside to strike up a conversation with him about how young he looked and how he hoped my boyfriend wasn't a wild partier, because quiet hours start at 10 p.m.

My boyfriend did his best to reassure him that he's not a wild partier, that he's a grownup with a job and is not, nor has ever been, a member of a fraternity. But little did Mr. Heckles know that I'd move in several months later and we'd both ruin his life with our loud, noisy, boisterous lifestyle.

Among our many offenses...

- Putting furniture together upon moving in.

- Making a "ruckus" while carrying something down the stairs. (This offense was committed by my boyfriend's mom, which just proves that he comes from a terrible family that cares nothing for others).

- Walking up and down the stairs too loudly.

- Playing pool on a hardwood floor, or doing something that sounded like that. (Note: At the time of this offense, my boyfriend was typing on his computer, and I was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed). His visit about this one came with a stern reminder, again, that quiet hours start at 10 p.m. and that hardwood floors are banned by the condo association as well as a request to come in to inspect the place.

- Doing laundry. Apparently the washing machine was making too much noise and my boyfriend was told he "should really have it checked out because the company that made it just laid off a lot of people, and it was probably made by a disgruntled employee who probably loosened something in there to make it loud on purpose."

- Inviting my boyfriend's family over for dinner. (Let it be known that they are generally a loud bunch, but they all left well before the witching hour of 10 p.m.)

- Walking up and down the stairs too loudly, again. This instance was the only time Mr. Heckles has ever spoken to me. I greeted him with a friendly "hello" when we were walking in the door at the same time, and he glanced at my boots and said, "so that's why there's always so much noise up there."

The latest of our offenses came Saturday night, when we invited the cast of Grease to come over for a beer after the show. Having missed the 10 p.m. quiet time deadline, we were already teetering on the edge of bad neighbor-ness when the first of our horribly rude friends to arrive called "hello" up the stairs upon walking into the building.

Well, that did it. Mr. Heckles made a beeline for our door, reminding my boyfriend again that he and the Mrs. like their peace and quiet.

I like my peace and quiet too (and might actually have it in this place if Mr. Heckles would shut his mouth some time). I have had to deal with loud neighbors in almost every place I've lived. In one apartment, I felt intimately acquainted with the couple upstairs, as they fought -- and made up -- at top volume, with their windows open, at all hours, seven days a week.

I'd love to know what Mr. and Mrs. Heckles would do if they had neighbors like that, who were actually loud.

Living in an apartment or condo can be tough, because you can't always have it quiet, and you can't always make all the noise you'd like, but there's got to be a happy medium somewhere.

Apparently the happy medium for Mr. Heckles is us having our wild parties (and I'll be honest -- there were chips and dip) elsewhere, namely a bar downtown. I might be splitting hairs here, but that doesn't sound like a compromise to me.

To reiterate his position that yes, the noise really does bother him -- in case we hadn't gotten that the first fifty times -- he came back yesterday afternoon to have a heart-to-heart with my boyfriend yet again about the quiet hours. As they both grew angrier, Mrs. Heckles became the mediator and piped up to say they like having us as neighbors and don't want to have to call the condo association, or, worse, the police.

My boyfriend, cool as a cucumber, told them that no one else in the building has complained and he has a hard time believing that we're making that much noise. But of course, as Mr. Heckles pointed out, he hadn't taken into account that the building was not built well and the walls are thin and that quiet hours start at 10 p.m.

Oh, and did I mention about the quiet hours? They start at 10 p.m.

As of the time I'm posting this, I have not yet had an opportunity to confirm this information.

My boyfriend explained that the show didn't end until after 10 and that it was Saturday and only the second party we've even given at the place, boldly implying that maybe it's alright to pick your battles and let some things go, but that was, of course, the wrong thing to say.

So from now on, we must end our parties by 10 p.m. and remind our friends to treat the building as a reform school -- no talking in the halls.

So come on over at 7 next Saturday, wear your boots, bring your pool cue and your dirty laundry, 'cause we're gonna have a wild time.

Just be quiet coming up the stairs.