Author: buzafazoo

I used to live in an apartment building a long time ago in a land far away.  It was a magical place with lots of wealthy white people and vast flowing fields of entitlement.  I lived there at the time with two other roommates.  Every once in a blue moon, we’d have a bunch of people over for rather tame parties.  It wasn’t so much that “we” would have a bunch of people over, as it was that they would have a bunch of people over, and I would be anti-social and awkward.  They were both ladies though, so at least their friends and associates didn’t render the events complete sausage festivals.

On one such occasion we loitered indoors, we sipped beverages, we conversed using indoor voices, and we were merry.  Then everyone departed and the remaining three of us went to our respective rooms.  I get about 10 minutes into cooking my dinner for that evening, when there is a knock on our door.  I open it up and before me stand two officers of the police variety.  The “bad cop” we’ll call him, proceeds to tell me he received a noise complaint and wanted to know what was going on at our place. “My roommates are both in bed and I’m cooking dinner.”  Bad cop then says something along the lines of: “Yea right sir.  We got a noise complain here.  I’m sure you’re just eating dinner.”  This display of prickdom, combined with the drinks from earlier cause me to get slightly bothered, so I shoot back:  “Well, you’re more than welcome to come in and see for yourself.  I’m sure the food isn’t being all that loud.”  The other officer, who we’ll call “good cop” says: “We’re just here because your neighbor called in a noise complaint.  Just make sure you keep it down and have a good night.”  I tell her thanks, ignore the other one and close the door.  I eat my dinner.  It sure is tasty.

The next day I’m somewhat bothered still.  Not so much because of the police, but because our d-bag neighbors called them on us without ever notifying us that we were being too loud.  (Which we more than likely weren’t.)  We had never met these neighbors, but I had a strong suspicion that they were a couple of dude-bros who were fresh out of mom and dad’s nest and who contributed nothing valuable to society.  One of the things that gave them away was that they always left their trash bags right outside their door for days on end, instead of bringing them out to the dumpster on the grounds.  The trash appeared to be mainly pizza boxes and shitty cheap beer.  Typical dude-bro garbage.

I go outside to do something or another, and I notice trash bags piled up outside their front door as usual.  When I moved into that apartment, for whatever reason, I actually read the guidelines packet that was given to us, so I knew that taking trash out to the dumpster wasn’t optional.  In this apartment community, they were serious about their rules and regulations.  It was then that I formulated the greatest plan mankind has ever known up to that point in human history.

I go back inside, find the number to the main office for the apartment complex and give them a ring.  A woman answers and asks what she can help me with.  I reply: “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but our neighbors constantly leave garbage outside their front door and it’s really starting to smell.  Normally I wouldn’t call up about something like this, but they seem to be doing this more and more frequently.”  She mentions that it’s against their policy for trash to be anywhere but in the dumpsters and thanks me for my call.

A few days later, like clockwork, there is another pile of bro trash outside their door.  I grab my phone and call up the office again.  This time I try to make my voice sound slightly different and say I’m calling from the apartment across from them.  I mention that they constantly leave garbage out and it looks really bad when we have guests over.  The woman apologizes, then tells me how this is the second complaint she’s received on them in a week and that she’ll have to serve them with a hundred dollar fee for breaking the regulation a second time.  Rules is rules.

You would think these dude-bro-clowns would have learned their lesson, but after a few weeks of being responsible adults, once again there are a few bags of refuse stacked outside their door.  Time for round three.  I call up yet again as myself, and mention that there is once again trash piled up outside their door.  I make sure I sound frustrated this time.  Like I’m one step closer to the edge, and I’m about to break.  She apologizes yet again, mentioning that this has been an on-going problem with them, and is their third infraction now.  I thank her, and hang up the phone, feeling accomplished.

I have no idea what happens on a “third infraction” at this particular apartment complex, but I have to imagine it is of equal or greater value to another $100 fine.  I don’t recall if I saw trash outside their door again after that, as I moved shortly after this transpired, but I was happy that I had invested as much time as I had into doing something purely out of spite.  I’d never seen anyone go in or out of that apartment, and wouldn’t recognize one of them if I happened to meet them at some point down the line, but I cost them a few hundred dollars, and that helps me sleep at night.  Next time, just knock on our door and tell us if we’re being too loud, you little douche-bronies.