Humble apologies to Paul Simon, for riffing on his song title. This (see below) is a great song from a timeless, stellar album that I still listen to, 47 (What?!?! How did that happen?!) years later.
One Man’s Ceiling Is Another Man’s Floor
Lyrics:
There’s been some hard feelings here
About some words that were said
Been some hard feelings here
And what is more
There’s been a bloody purple nose
And some bloody purple clothes
That were messing up the lobby floor
It’s just apartment house rules
So all you ‘partment house fools
Remember: one man’s ceiling
Is another man’s floor
One man’s ceiling
Is another man’s floor
There’s been some strange goin’s-on
And some folks have come and gone
And the elevator man don’t work no more
I heard a racket in the hall
And I thought I heard a fall
But I never opened up my door
It’s just apartment house sense
It’s like apartment house rents
Remember: one man’s ceiling
Is another man’s floor
I tell you, one man’s ceiling
Is another man’s floor
And there’s an alley
In the back of my building
Where some people congregate in shame
I was walking with my dog
And the night was black with smog
When I thought I heard somebody
Call my name
Remember: one man’s ceiling
Is another man’s floor
© 1973 Words and Music by Paul Simon
I’ve been living on the island, in my new apartment home, for almost 3 months now. And, although not perfect, it is pretty damn good here. But as you might imagine, coming from my stand-alone aerie dominating the corner of a downtown block back in Ontario to being in the 2nd floor corner unit of 3 story apartment building has taken a bit of getting used to.
I have neighbours on 3 sides of me, and I’ve learned a lot about them in our time “together” so far.
Let me start at the beginning.
The first residents I met were the 2 young men (brothers) who are directly below my unit. They gave me a warm hello, welcoming me to the “community”, and admiring (at subsequent encounters) my shoes (Vans, tie-dyed) and my bag (Desigual) – both being very colourful and hippy-ish – as they are totally their vibe. They have a plaque on their door proclaiming “Far Out” in a 1970’s balloon-type font, for proof.
What can I tell you about these brothers? Well, they are fond of ye olde Wake and Bake ritual apparently, based on the smells wafting from their place. Any time of day, come to think of it. Mostly they have been surprisingly quiet, but occasionally they have friends over and get into the alcohol (as people do) and then the voices and the music rise in volume. I have dubbed them “The Party Bros”.
Directly above me on the top floor resides an older couple, whom I have yet to meet. However I feel like I am privy to their day-to-day lives through the lack of soundproofing between floors. I know which one is walking, where they are walking, and when they have their hyperactive grandchild(ren) over for the day/night. And especially when they are sliding open their balcony doors…it sounds like thunder; like they are moving heavy furniture; and my apartment actually shudders from this activity. I have dubbed them “The Stompy McStompersons”.
As a result of experiencing them in this way, I make sure to walk very lightly myself – on the balls of my feet – lest I inflict the same disturbance upon The Party Bros. I also open and close my balcony door sliders very gently. I am 100% convinced that the McStompersons are completely unaware that their activities can be so damn annoying loud noticeable, as they have no one living above them.
The next neighbour I met was an English lady who lived (has since moved back to England, with her hubs) on the first floor of my building. Let’s call her Lady Di. Lady Di was walking her dogs (not allowed here, I thought?) and waved up to me while I was sitting on my balcony. We got to chatting and she invited me over to her place for a socially-distant glass of (please bring your own) wine. Over wine, Lady Di proceeded to offer her condolences to me as apparently I live right next door to someone who is “starkers”. Let’s call her M.
M, a slight South Asian woman, has apparently had the police called on her multiple times due to her habit of singing and raging in the middle of the night in her apartment and in the parking lot. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the man she lives with. Can confirm all of the above. More on M, later.
Anyhoodle, back to Lady Di…I was invited back for another socially distant visit – this time a BBQ – and this time with her hubs in attendance as he was now back home for good, having finished with his job in Alberta. Hubs pounded back at least 1/2 a dozen beers during my 90 minute visit. Astonishing.
I felt the need to reciprocate the hospitality so invited them over to my place for an evening, before they left the building (and the country). Lady Di and Hubs arrived – him with a little cooler of beers, her with what was left of a box of wine, as the standard had been set to bring your own drinks – and our evening commenced.
Lady Di asked me what I thought about the legalization of marijuana. Weed and its odour is a common topic of discussion with just about all my neighbours, and all with reference to The Party Bros. I told her bluntly that I would rather be trapped in a room full of stoners than a room full of drunks, ANY DAY. Much less shouting, fighting and disharmony in general! Hubs immediately agreed and then added that he occasionally, inexplicably (really, queen!?!) descends into an uncontrollable rage when drinking. WHILE HE IS SITTING IN MY HOUSE. WITH A DRINK IN HIS HAND.
Gentle reader – remember how I mentioned on ye olde blogge previously how my dad was one of those guys too? Imagine how triggered I was by this confession.
Somehow the evening was got through without my place or self being trashed by the Hubs (who – full disclosure – behaved in an exemplary manner all evening). And now they are gone and I don’t have to ever explain why going forward he will be no longer be welcome in my home when drinking.
After Lady Di, the next neighbour I met was J. J lives on the 3rd floor and has the most amazing balcony garden, that also flies the Pride flag. I was looking forward to meeting J, as who doesn’t need more gay men in their life? My best male friends in the entire world are the most lovely couple, my former tenants, who have enriched my life beyond measure. In my opinion they set the standard for healthy relationship goals for anybody, no matter your orientation.
Back to J. J is unlike any gay man I’ve come across. In observing him around the complex I have to say that J “outheteros” any hetero male I’ve ever met, in terms of (lack of ) attention to dress and displaying uncouth behaviours while outside, on the grounds below my place. Behaviours such as yelling up to Mr. McStomperson details about his…um… “romantic” life, and hawking loogies and blowing snot rockets in the parking lot.
My hetero male readers are of course excluded from this generalization – refined, tasteful beings that you all are.
Next I met the neighbour directly across the hall from me. S is a salt-of-the-earth guy and H, his partner is a lovely young lady. S also had to bring up the weed smell and asked me what I thought of it. I told him truthfully that I enjoy occasionally partaking of the devil’s lettuce and that the smell doesn’t bother me. Truth be told, I like the smell. He also mentioned M and then told me that he was available if I ever needed any “help”. Any time. Day or night, I was just to knock at his door and he would be there for me.
Ummm, thanks, I think? Very nice offer. But WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO MAKE IT??? WHAT KIND OF PLACE HAVE I MOVED INTO?!?!?
S also expressed thanks to his god, upon meeting me, that finally there was another “normal” person living here. Fooled another one! Hehehe…
And finally: While my friend Joanne was visiting, I actually got to meet M, in the hallway outside of our respective doorways. We introduced ourselves, and I didn’t let on that I had already been warned by multiple neighbours about her cute-as-a-button little self. M proceeded to tell me about the former occupant of my place – a retired guy (physicist, I think she said) who was quite the loner, and who died in his (my) apartment. How long before anyone found him, one can’t help but wonder. Thankfully my apartment was completely renovated from top to bottom before I moved in…
With a glint in her eye, M said “That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
With a big smile on my face, I said “Not at all, Bitch! I had my mother come home to my place to die. That stuff doesn’t bother me.”
M then told me to be sure to let her know if things ever got loud at her place, and we parted. Bitch, they already have and you know it. Yeah, sure. This ain’t my first apartment rodeo and I’ve heard that song before from previous inconsiderate neighbours. It’s always the noisy ones who tell you to let them know if they are bothering you, and then you do, and nothing changes and you end up having to call the police on them anyways.
Different people have opined that I should speak to my neighbours or building management about my noise issues. I’ve thought about it (and I may yet feel compelled to do so), but so far I haven’t felt the need to take it to that level. I also do feel for apartment pariah M who, according to my neighbours, has very real mental health issues. She is apparently on her 3rd strike with the police and will be hauled away to the clink at the next transgression, if what my neighbours are gossiping to confiding in me is accurate. For now, my thinking is that these nuisance behaviours don’t happen all that often and are just a by-product of living in close quarters with others. Also, I’m retired, and can always take a nap if my sleep gets shorted and even if it doesn’t…hehehe!
Besides, then I wouldn’t have these stories to tell. 😉
Rock on,
The WB
