We have a new neighbour above us. He whistles on the balcony.
In the past 5 years, the apartment above us has changed hands numerous times. We know a new set has moved in by the new noises and smells.
At first there were the young men who played video games and watched movies at dangerously high decibel levels. J-M knocked on their door, “Listen guys, I love Star Wars too, but…”
There were the weed smokers, who were like clockwork. At 10 a.m. and 5 p.m., we knew to close the windows.
After that were the ones who partied till the wee hours Thursday, Friday & Saturday and threw up every Friday, Saturday & Sunday morning. That was a regular call to security. “I know,” he’d say, a little defeated, “I’m on my way…” From time to time, I felt bad calling security and would knock on the door myself (sleeplessness makes you ornery) only to hear bottles crashing and stumbling and loud shushing. They never came to the door, but they always stopped the noise.
There was the young family with the crying baby. We didn’t mind, other than to wonder if it would be too intrusive to offer to take the baby for a while and give them a rest?
The saxophonist who played/practiced Careless Whisper daily made all my urban apartment dweller dreams come true.
Then there was the man who was always using his tools and treating the apartment like a workshop. Ceaseless drilling, sawing, and hammering. J-M eventually had to go up when water started coming through our ceiling. Admittedly J-M tried to get a peek at what this man might be making and could see nothing. The man simply said he was fixing a leak.
We got used to the one with the bouncing ball habit, but I had to go Mama Bear on the one who was verbally abusive with his girlfriend.
And now a whistler. I like it. I hope he stays.