One Slumlord: There Goes The Neighborhood

Once upon a time, the Villa was a fairly pleasant place to live, but one slumlord can ruin everything. For 18 years, my next-door neighbors were an elderly couple. They put away an impressive quantity of vodka, but they never bothered me and I never bothered them. When they died, we learned old Bill had mortgaged the property for much more than it was worth. Their kids couldn't walk away fast enough and the bank ended up with the house.

Then Squidgie the Slumlord swooped in and stole it bought it and turned it into a rental. He added two more full baths (which I'm sure are not on the tax assessment) and asked an outrageous amount for rent. The only tenants willing to pay that amount were three immature little frat-brats who wanted to be able to crawl home from the neighborhood bars. And so I lived next to the Three Little Pigs for two years, who woke us all up regularly with whooping and door-slamming and dog-barking. Yes, they brought with them a 50 lb. male Pit Bull who was not neutered. Really, everybody's ideal neighbors, eh? Squidgie made it clear from day one: he doesn't care. As long as they pay their rent on time, Squidgie doesn't care if the Pigs are stacking dead bodies in the basement.

The neighbor on the other side of the Pigs, Poor B, had it even worse. The Pigs set up a giant hot tub, basically right outside of Poor B's bedroom window, and the party got louder, later, and wetter. Occasionally, Poor B would go out at three or four in the morning, and ask them politely if they would please keep it down a little. Their reply? "F___ you, Motherf___er!" Charming.

For reasons that aren't clear, Squidgie finally decided not to renew The Pigs' lease for a third year. I do know that he spent weeks cleaning and repairing the place... only to rent to the three Bimbeaux, who have turned out to be as horrible as the Pigs. The Bims are very young and very pretty (and very, very stupid), so they draw flocks and flocks of Pigs, like the previous Pigs but worse: they're just visiting and care even less about disturbing the neighbors. I have asked them several times, politely, if they would please keep down the noise between midnight and 6 am. Six hours a day: that's all I'm asking for, and yet like the Pigs before them, the Bims are incapable of even that much consideration.

They started up again last night at 3am, and I threw on my tatty cotton robe and marched over there, my crazy curls standing out from my head like corkscrews. All that racket from just two Bims and a Pig! I offered no more apologies, no more polite requests. "Go inside the house now. You can't keep waking up the neighbors."

"Uh, we're rully sorry...we'll keep it down," they started.

I was having none of it. "No, we've asked you several times to be considerate of your neighbors, so now we're going to start calling the police every time you wake us up. And then you're going to get evicted. You're going to lose your deposit and you will get sued for the balance of the lease. Go. Inside. Now." I stood there and waited for them to go inside. Much of the problem stems from the fact that Squidgie has told them they cannot smoke in the house, so they come outside to smoke, and forget that they are drunk, and loud, and stupid.

I'm tired of being the crank on the corner, but it doesn't seem unreasonable to get those six hours of quiet. City codes actually designated 11pm - 7am as "quiet hours," but the trick is getting the police to show up, especially on a Friday or Saturday night. I understand: they have better things to do. But being woken up 3-4 nights a week, when sleeping is already a challenge, when restful sleep is especially important to me, is just driving me insane. I don't believe in heaven and hell. I'm not sure I believe in Karma anymore, but if there are such things, I would have to try very hard not to be absolutely gleeful about what's in store for Squidgie.

(*To come: more about Crazytown and Poor B's attempt to sell his property.)