Tuesday, September 2, 2008

The Domestics

Our neighbors hate each other. A lot.

I mean, okay, some people like to yell and bitch at each other. Stephen and I develop anaphylaxis at the mere thought, which is not necessarily healthy either, but part of that is that, you know, we actually like each other and we don't want to hurt each other's feelings. Anyway, my point is that I know Stephen and I Do Not Enjoy Fighting, but there are some people who Really Enjoy Fighting.

This is different. I am TELLING you. They haaaate each other.

They have a knock-down, drag out several times a week. We know this because we hear every word. Our paper-thin walls are partly to blame (but look at our immaculate silestone counters! and let me show you the rooftop deck, it's really a lovely place to live, really!), but the screaming doesn't exactly help. I can never make out *exactly* what they're fighting about, but there's lots of screeching and expletives and rage. One of our personal favorites was:

Domestic No. 1: 'morning.
Domestic No. 2: oh, what the fuck is your problem NOW?

I'm not even kidding.

They're having it out right now, and I hope it's a big one. Usually that'll tide 'em over for awhile, and we have a showing on thursday evening. It wouldn't be as bad as "Well, my client liked the unit, but not the elevator that trapped the strange New Zealander," but it'd be right up there to hear, "It's priced well, but my clients are afraid they'll have to call the police when a strange odor permeates the unit from next door."

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