I believe there are...douches above us

As anyone who lives in an apartment knows, sometimes you can hear the people who live above you, below you, or next to you. I've dealt with barking dogs, crying babies, domestic disturbances, and the worst kind of guitar solos possible. But nothing, and I do mean nothing, takes the cake compared to the jackasses who live above me, whom I don't know, but I can only assume are a morbidly obese family of tumblers and amateur kickboxers. After they woke me up repeatedly last night, and realizing that the management who runs this place probably wouldn't do anything about it, I took matters into my own hands and crafted this letter, which I promptly hung on their door:

Dear Sir(s)/Madam(s) in Apartment XXXX,

First and foremost, I’d like to congratulate you on the enthusiasm and gusto with which you’ve attacked your new years resolution to become fitter and get in better shape. I can only assume this is the case since you are engaging in what sounds like some serious Cross-Fit/P90x/Turbo Kick at two in the morning. Perhaps I am wrong and perhaps you are training for America’s Next Top Ninja Warrior, but it is the only logical hypothesis that I can come up with based on the crashes, bangs, and vibrations emulating from your apartment. Maybe I am way off base, and maybe you’re an animal rights activist who adopted a small homeless elephant whose pen you constructed directly above my bedroom. That would explain the ceiling shaking, but the loud steps that I hear are obviously that of a biped galloping from one room to the next, so that can’t be it. (Also, elephants probably have a hard time slamming doors.)

As your neighbor below you, let me tell you that living below you is akin to living in a war zone. Early this morning, at at approximately 1:46 a.m., I woke to what I believed was an earthquake or IED explosion followed by heavy mortar rounds. I’m pretty sure the residents of West Fallujah and Damascus slept more peacefully than I did last night.

(Seriously, what the hell were you doing up there?)

Now I’m not one to ruin anyone’s good time, but come on, it’s a Monday night in Salt Lake City. I get that there’s not much of a nightlife around here, but opening an after hours Fight Club-esque venue can’t be that profitable in the long run.

I would like to take this opportunity to address the problem and identify possible courses of action should you continue to practice your MMA skills directly above my freaking head. Apparently my use of a broomstick and colorful vocabulary did not do the trick (although I’m pretty sure I shouted so loudly that the elders at the Mormon temple are praying for me).

Mull this over as you loudly blend your 3 a.m. protein shake: as someone who has worked in IT for much of her adult life, I am very adept at setting up wireless surround sound systems. In fact, I am contemplating putting some speakers in the upper corners of my bedroom- as close to our shared heating vents as possible. If you’re wondering what kind of music I like, I bet it’s not the kind that you like. I have an entire playlist titled “Angry Girl Music.”

So unless you want artists such as Hole, Tracy Bonham, Bikini Kill, Tori Amos, Paramore, Lana Del Rey, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Marina and the Diamonds piped directly into your domicile at alarmingly high volume on a continual repeat cycle, I suggest you knock it off with your weeknight breakdance/burpee sessions. Thank you in advance for your consideration.-

-Zoe in the apartment below you