I tried the nice approach. We have called in noise complaints three times in three weeks and police have come out to shut the party down. We’ve tried enduring it, turning up the TV, shoving earplugs deeper in my ears. The neighbors insist on loud karaoke parties weekly, sometimes 2-3 times a week. Friday night, I was home alone and their party started up around 8 and was still going on past 11:30 when I attempted to fall asleep, rocked by the vibrations of their bass. By Saturday morning, I was pretty much a wreck. Having endured The Music Man for five years while managing the apartment, I have some sort of PTSD when it comes to this shit. I broke down crying to Mr. Darcy. I feel so stressed out living in our house! How messed up is that? That these fuckers should impact my enjoyment of our home to this degree?
So then it’s Sunday and my family is over for Easter dinner. It’s a beautiful, sunny day so we dined outside as did our neighbors and their mounting crew of people. As we sat there eating, more and more cars drove up the driveway and their chatter increased. I became very tense, worried that what would follow would inevitably be how they celebrate every holiday and every damn day, really. More karaoke.
It was about 8pm when we started to feel the vibrations. We’re sitting on our couch, clear across the house, and can feel it. We talked about what to do, tried to watch some more of the show, but then Mr. Darcy was like, “I’m going to go over there.” So of course I said I’d go too even though the thought of it made me want to throw up. As we walked across our lawn, I had to stop to take a deep breath. As ballsy as I might be, I loathe confrontations like this. I just want to be nice and have everyone get along. I don’t want to have to negotiate with karaoke terrorists.
We knocked on the door multiple times which turned to pounding on it because their music was so loud they couldn’t hear us. I knocked so hard my knuckles hurt. A guy opened the door and I think I said something like, “Your music is too loud.” He kind of shook his head but appeared drunk and I’d never seen this guy before so I said, “I want to talk to John. Where is John?” He wouldn’t get John and meanwhile the karaoke singer just kept going even though she could see us standing there at the door. I broke my own rule and swore during a confrontation saying “I’m sick of this shit.” I try not to do that because it always escalates the situation. The drunk guy blearily said something like, “This is my house blah blah blah.” I’m like, “This is YOUR house? Where is John?” He tried to shut the door in my face and that’s when shit got real and I don’t totally recall everything I said because I was SICK OF THIS SHIT. Mr. Darcy said I kind of lost it. Yep, I did.
I smacked that damn door open and said loudly, “I WANT TO TALK TO JOHN!” Over and over until John appeared. I was going nowhere. I had reached my limit of nice and it’s not pretty when I cross over. There’s a reason people think I’m east coast. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy is standing behind me ready to punch that little drunk dude as he was getting in my face. John finally came to the door and came outside to talk to us. Darcy introduced himself and we attempted to reason with him. We tried to be nice. We want to be neighborly but when we can feel the bass from our couch clear across our house, it’s not cool. At one point I almost started crying, lamenting how I didn’t move to the suburbs for this after enduring the apartment managing for years. I don’t know you guys, I was kind of breaking down under all the stress. Meanwhile. some chick kept opening the door while we were talking to John to yell in Vietnamese. He’d wave her off, she’d shut the door, then a few seconds later, she’d do it again. These people are crazy, man. Mr. Darcy made sure to repeat to John: You understand that we are giving you this chance to make this right? That we need the volume and bass turned down? He said yes and honestly, when we got back home, we couldn’t hear it.
As we were walking back to our house, our across the street neighbors arrived home and hollered over, “Good! I’m glad you went and talked to them. I’ve had to go over there in my pajamas it’s so loud!” So we walked over to them to meet them and talk about how crazy these karaoke people are. It helped to know we’re not the only ones suffering and that if it came to it, we’d have more neighbors on our side to get these assholes evicted. We also learned that the woman who used to live in our house before it was purchased at auction and flipped, had a son who murdered someone. The neighbor showed us an iPhone video he shot of the SWAT team surrounding the house, looking for the suspect. The woman/mother was the only one home and they tore her house apart. Holy shit! I hope us living here can bring some joy to what was obviously a very sad house. If only we can get these karaoke neighbors to cooperate or leave.
From now on, we’re not negotiating with the terrorists. We’ve got the police noise complaint number memorized and will use it. We’ve looked into the tax records with the help of our realtor friend but it only shows the address next door for the landlords. I’ve got a few other friends with sneaky connections who are investigating the landlords. I am determined to locate them and inform them of the situation. The across the street neighbor said the lady who owns it is very nice and had mentioned she might open the house up to a section 8 renter so I’m also going to call that office. This is a neighborhood of families and retirees. These people are in the wrong damn neighborhood and they’ve pushed me past my breaking point.