You expect to hear your neighbors living in a condominium: talking, laughing, arguing, parties, music. But I live in a condo of largely older Orthodox Jews in a neighborhood known as Little Israel (I think they approved me because they were confused by "Benjamin." Common mistake.). My neighbors are quiet as synagogue mice. I have heard music played by two neighbors in 15 years, occasionally by a young woman upstairs from me years ago who has long since moved out, the other by someone around me, not on my floor, but until a couple of months ago I didn't know where he lived, who he was, or if he was a he or a she.
It was not unpleasant music, a crooner with a nice voice who sang Sinatra and Elvis songs in a croon rhythm to exaggerate his trill in a manner that I imagined appealed to those of his constituents who fancy exaggeration, which largely my neighbors do. So, it was pleasant at first. But, my neighbor played the same two or three songs at the same time of day, late afternoon, every day, for years. He played it pretty loud, too. It was louder in my unit in the winter when he flung open his balcony sliding glass doors, more muted in the summer but still plenty audible.
After a while it drove me to distraction. I tried earplugs but earplugs don't shut out all noise and I could still hear it. And because I knew the music so well, from endless repetition, I would, against my will, anticipate the part that always particularly grated on me, a music-less "uh-uh-uh-uh" trill, just the trill, no singing, "uh-uh-uh-uh." ARGH! I would get my CD player ready to go every day I was home at about 4:30 to drown it out. I would put on anything, I would switch it to radio and tune it to static, anything just to drown out "uh-uh-uh-uh." But these defensive maneuvers of course interrupted my work or my reading or whatever I was doing.
I thought of complaining, but about whom? I didn't know who it was! And if I had, was I really such an asshole as to complain about an older Jewish man or woman playing not unpleasant music for 15 minutes in the middle of the day? No, I was not that big an asshole, I'm an above-average asshole but not a BIG asshole. Usually. So, I would just turn the goddamn CD player on.
Then one day this past spring, I was outside the front of the building waiting on my son to come over. Suddenly, Croonowitz started. I whirled around, looked up: third floor, balcony sliding glass doors open. I had left my shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile in my apartment when I realized, "Oh my God that's Menachem." I knew Menachem's unit, I had been in it before, Menachem was the person I liked best in the building, and the music was coming from Menachem's unit. I felt guilty and resolved to sell my shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile on ebay. Croonowitz continued at his appointed time every day. I didn't complain to Menachem.
I didn't hear Croonowitz on July 3. Menachem must be away for the holiday. "YAY!" But his vehicle was still in its parking space right next to mine. (?) The last time I heard Croonowitz was ~July 2. The music had stopped. Menachem had stopped playing it. Stopped playing any music. Somebody had complained. Somebody who lived next to him on the 3rd floor probably. I would have had to leave every day the minute I heard him put Croonowitz on if I had lived next to Menachem on the third floor.
A few nights ago I heard a sound that I have never heard in 15 years living here, a television set, soft and unobtrusive. Somebody had complained and Menachem, like the good mensch he is, gave up Croonowitz for the Boob Tube. I wish I could say I am sorry for Menachem that he had to give up such a pleasure to him but I am too big an asshole for that.
It was not unpleasant music, a crooner with a nice voice who sang Sinatra and Elvis songs in a croon rhythm to exaggerate his trill in a manner that I imagined appealed to those of his constituents who fancy exaggeration, which largely my neighbors do. So, it was pleasant at first. But, my neighbor played the same two or three songs at the same time of day, late afternoon, every day, for years. He played it pretty loud, too. It was louder in my unit in the winter when he flung open his balcony sliding glass doors, more muted in the summer but still plenty audible.
After a while it drove me to distraction. I tried earplugs but earplugs don't shut out all noise and I could still hear it. And because I knew the music so well, from endless repetition, I would, against my will, anticipate the part that always particularly grated on me, a music-less "uh-uh-uh-uh" trill, just the trill, no singing, "uh-uh-uh-uh." ARGH! I would get my CD player ready to go every day I was home at about 4:30 to drown it out. I would put on anything, I would switch it to radio and tune it to static, anything just to drown out "uh-uh-uh-uh." But these defensive maneuvers of course interrupted my work or my reading or whatever I was doing.
I thought of complaining, but about whom? I didn't know who it was! And if I had, was I really such an asshole as to complain about an older Jewish man or woman playing not unpleasant music for 15 minutes in the middle of the day? No, I was not that big an asshole, I'm an above-average asshole but not a BIG asshole. Usually. So, I would just turn the goddamn CD player on.
Then one day this past spring, I was outside the front of the building waiting on my son to come over. Suddenly, Croonowitz started. I whirled around, looked up: third floor, balcony sliding glass doors open. I had left my shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile in my apartment when I realized, "Oh my God that's Menachem." I knew Menachem's unit, I had been in it before, Menachem was the person I liked best in the building, and the music was coming from Menachem's unit. I felt guilty and resolved to sell my shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile on ebay. Croonowitz continued at his appointed time every day. I didn't complain to Menachem.
I didn't hear Croonowitz on July 3. Menachem must be away for the holiday. "YAY!" But his vehicle was still in its parking space right next to mine. (?) The last time I heard Croonowitz was ~July 2. The music had stopped. Menachem had stopped playing it. Stopped playing any music. Somebody had complained. Somebody who lived next to him on the 3rd floor probably. I would have had to leave every day the minute I heard him put Croonowitz on if I had lived next to Menachem on the third floor.
A few nights ago I heard a sound that I have never heard in 15 years living here, a television set, soft and unobtrusive. Somebody had complained and Menachem, like the good mensch he is, gave up Croonowitz for the Boob Tube. I wish I could say I am sorry for Menachem that he had to give up such a pleasure to him but I am too big an asshole for that.
