For the past four days, there have been, at last count, eight people in the one bedroom apartment above us. Half of them are children.
It seems that the kids have nothing better to do than run from the bedroom to the living room, repeatedly knock something onto the floor in the front corner of the living room, and jump off their balcony.
It sounds, as Nathan says, like a herd of elephants live upstairs. Taking a nap down here has become pretty much impossible because every twenty minutes you're waking up to gut-wrneching crashes. We know that there's a certain amount of noise because we suspect she has a lofted bed, every morning and sometimes at night there are single crashes like someone landing on the floor. But these kids have taken that single jump, amplified it by a million and spread it all over the apartment. I honestly don't know how they find the room. That apartment is the same size as ours, and we don't have room to make that much noise. I suspect lead shoes are becoming a new fad.
Worse than the noise, however, is the jumping off the balcony. It is annoying as hell to sit in the living room and watch bodies come flying past the windows. Then they hide under the balcony, and they're smashed right up against our windows. We do have the blinds drawn, but when your nose is smashed against the glass, you can see in. I've been waving at them when they look in, but it's as though I don't exist. Perhaps I should flip them off instead?
From their comings and goings to the pool, I have decided that the girl who actually lives there must be an aunt, and the other grown-ups are most likely her sister, her mother, and some other woman who probably isn't related because she and her son are more of the Aryan complexion.
Since we've let it go on this long (because we assumed they'd be gone before yesterday), it seems a little silly to go up and ask them to be quiet now. Besides, then we might find out when they're actually leaving and if that date were too far off I would cry. At least this gives hope that every morning they'll be gone soon.
I'm amazed I managed to get through that whole narration without saying anything derogatory or using the words "ghetto-ass". And trust me, it's nothing to do with race, if they were a family of little blonde Swedes and they behaved like that, my reaction would be the same.
OK, hold on. There's a fight going on up there now. I can't work out how many people are actually up there, but there's a guy and a girl screaming at each other. Sounds like she did something he doesn't like. And now white girl and her son are getting into a car followed by some guy I've never seen before along with the oldest of the kids. Now they're gone and it's as quiet as it's been in three days upstairs.
Now I'll say it. There is some ghetto-ass white trash shit going on upstairs. Now that I know which car White Girl belongs to, she lives upstairs too, but in a different apartment. I know I've never seen the kid until this weekend. Something to me says custody battle. Why the people directly upstairs are involved, I don't know. I wonder if the guy is related to one of them and married to White Girl. That's a weird coincidence, but the best I can do with what I've got.