I Can't Wait to Own a House

Those that live in apartments know of the trade off you get with hardwood floors.  You get the nice look without the dirty carpet, but you also get the paper thin ceilings.  Back in the day, RTB shared an apartment in the Chicago area.  We were on the second floor of a three-flat.  Our sprawling apartment had beautiful hardwood floors, and we were ecstatic--until about a week after we moved into the place.  We are convinced that the guy that lived above us worked for Boeing on a special project.  Boeing had asked him to build a 747 in his apartment, and he would have to do this task on his own time--after work.  To his credit, he worked like a sumbitch, putting in about 25 -30 hours a week during weeknights to complete the project.  We left before the guy above us finished building the jumbo jet.  True story: the three-flat was later set ablaze.  Our thinking is that the Boeing dude got pissed once he finished the plane and realized he couldn't fit it down the stairs.  To our knowledge, no charges were brought against him though.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm begging for the Boeing guy instead of what I have now.  Currently, my wife and I are living below two of the worst people imaginable.  These people (pictured above--roughly) apparently have a touch of paranoid schizophrenia, which would explain why they march back and forth in their apartment for about 20 hours a day, 7 days a week.  From working from home a couple days and being home on the weekends, we know that these wonderful people take no breaks.  They even get their dog involved in the marching which usually sets off our dog on a barking spree.  It's really quite a symphony we have going.  The constant stomping with a couple dogs barking their heads off can be a very soothing sound.

Last night the marching relented for a few minutes, which was met with applause from our apartment.  Oh how naive we were.  A couple minutes after their final stomp, I heard a ruffle of a moan.  At first, I thought that makes sense, I'd be moaning too if I stomped 140 hours a week for the past 6 months.  Then I heard more moaning --moaning that might accompany 200 hours a week of marching.  Hey, wait a sec.  More moaning.  I finally figured it out.  Please start marching again.  Please.  A couple more minutes of moaning and then silence.  Moments later, they were back to their posts, and I was on craigslist looking for a new apartment.  I wonder if they fit the Code of Harry...