An Open Letter to Mr. McCrochety

Note: Last night, my downstairs neighbor, known on this blog as Mr. McCrochety (not to protect his true identity but because I hate him too much to learn his real name) banged on his ceiling with what I presume was a broom handle when my dog was running around. She wasn't barking, mind you. She was running up and down the hallway, making little pitter patter sounds with her feet. I honestly don't know how he even heard it.

When he banged on the ceiling, I was so angry that I wanted to storm downstairs, pound on his door and give him a piece of my mind. My husband stopped me for a few reasons. First, it wouldn't do any good, and second, the guy is scary. I mean scary. He watches out his window when we go outside and looks in the dumpster after we throw things away so he can see what we're getting rid of. The guy is going to go after someone with a tire iron someday, and we don't want it to be us.

But just in case I run into him in broad daylight when there are witnesses around, I worked up a little speech. I don't often run into him, though, and I think it's a pretty good speech, so I'm posting it here in case he happens to know any Stapling Jello readers. I'm sure he is not one himself -- he doesn't even have a TV, so I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a computer either.

Dear Mr. McCrochety,

Because of your complaints about the excessive noise in our building, my husband and I have stopped doing laundry after 10 p.m., wearing shoes inside, speaking in the hallway after dark, using a meat mallet when we cook dinner and allowing our dog to bark, even when it is appropriate for her to do so.

We have gone above and beyond what neighborly politeness dictates, living our lives as quietly as possible simply to avoid yet another confrontation with you.

So if you want to bang on your ceiling with a broom handle every time you hear signs of life in the unit above, that's just fine. But I'm here to tell you, the next time it happens will mark the end of our courtesy.

Sincerely,
Erika