Just a quick, public note to say how much I hate you. I hate you very very very very much. I hate you so much and I can’t stand it anymore. I want your violin strings to snap. I want your bows to break. I want both of those things to cause you bodily harm. I wish nothing good for you. I’m more than pissed off.
Since September I have put up with your your violin playing, complaining about it only on this blog. It has gone on day and night, for hours on end. And I think I’ve been more than tolerant and flexible about letting you play without banging on any doors or walls, or reporting you to the building management company. I’ve even dealt with your smelly cooking, which has stunk up the hallway, and every so often would back up into my kitchen sink — largely due, I was told, to the fact that you did not understand how to use a disposal. I’ve never spoken to you, even though we live next door to each other. But that day is coming and you’re not going to like what I have to say.
Do you have any conception of how loud you are, and of the fact that if I walk to the opposite end of the hallway I can still hear you playing? Do you know how annoying it is to get home from a long day of work and hear your screeching violin playing echoing through the hallways? Do you know how difficult it is to enjoy a TV show or to relax at night when you’re playing? Do you have any common decency or respect for your neighbors? Do you? I guess not.
Last week when you began playing violin during the Oscars, I finally lost all my patience, went beyond my breaking point, and reported you to Hamilton. I know they called you and sent you a note telling you it’s building policy that loud noise such as violin playing is not allowed. And yet, it’s Sunday evening and after listening to both of you playing your violins this afternoon for two hours — solo, and then together, and then solo again — now you’ve started again. Ladies, that’s enough. No, it’s more than enough. I’ve had it. This is fu**ing ridiculous. In fact, I’ve complained to Hamilton again (they asked me not to complain directly to you). Actually, I emailed them this afternoon and I’ve done so again this evening. And yes, I know I’m moving in about a month, but I don’t care. You must stop. Now. You must go to the practice studio at your school and practice there — just like my upstairs neighbor does. You must never cross me in the hallway. You must cease to exist in the building. And most definitely, you must stop knocking on the wall the very second I laugh at something on TV, as you have done twice this past week.
I’m generally a very nice person. But even I have my limits. If you keep playing your violin, I will keep reporting you to Hamilton (as they have asked me to do), and they will kick you out of the building. I hope that when they send you a second notice tomorrow morning that you will understand what they say and take it to heart. Otherwise, it will only get worse for you. Because if Hamilton’s efforts don’t produce results, then you’ll have to deal with me. And I can assure you, when my passive aggressive nature turns less passive, you will not like it. I, however, will enjoy making my last weeks in the building as unpleasant for you as I possibly can.
So please, for your own sake, please (and yes, I’m still saying please) quit it with the violin playing. Immediately.
Thank you.
– Martin
ps: Obviously, this picture is not of you. Just in case anyone else was wondering.
’90s nostalgia comes in two flavors: welcomed and unwelcomed. The New Kids reunion? Unwelcomed. A new Beverly Hills 90210? Very much welcomed.
