Actually, I’ve been one.
I wouldn’t say rotten, but I was surely young and selfish.
See, I just love music, and believe in waking up to it, going to sleep to it, and spending every moment in between listening to it.
One particular morning, when I had my first apartment, I was belting out a few Whitney Houston hits. And I sounded gooooood if you let me tell it.
Unfortunately, my neighbor couldn’t say the same. I would later find out that she heard me, not just that morning, but numerous times, singing like I was being paid, singing like I was on somebody’s stage – powerful, unique, and in control.
And in my mind, I was.
So, when I received a call later that day from our building manager, I answered honestly when she asked, “Danielle, we received a call this morning about someone playing some loud music. Did you hear anything?” I replied with, “Yeah, it was probably me.”
She could do nothing but laugh. It was obvious from her response that she didn’t expect me to be so forthright. I told her that I needed the music to get ready for work, to wake me up, and prepare for a brand new day, and whatever I could think of to explain my behavior.
I also shared that when you choose to live in an apartment, you understand that you’re sharing walls, that you’ll hear somethings. For this reason, I ignored bouncing balls, trumpets playing, drumming, crying, and all other sounds from neighbors because it’s apart of the deal.
And you just can’t expect expect silence.
And my neighbor shouldn’t have either.
She listened and shared the appropriate minimal encouragers when required, but seemed dissatisfied. So in an effort to appease her and bring our conversation to a close, I agreed to monitor my volume and pay attention to the time while playing.
But I was upset and embarrassed.
Because this was a first. See, no one complained about me. Not in elementary, junior high, or high school. I was likable and got along with most . So, handling a complaint wasn’t easy to do; it just made me feel like I had been sent to the principal’s office.
I called everyone I knew, sharing the story and hoping for allies. And yes, I got a few who told me it was my apartment and I should be able to do whatever I wanted (Yes, they were young like me). But I still felt bad. And since these guilty feelings arose, I knew I had to do better. I had to make the situation right and follow the golden rule – treating people the way that I wanted to be treated.
I also had to be real honest with myself.
Even though I love Whitney, anywhere, anytime – no one (besides me) wants to hear ‘The Greatest Love of All,’ at 6am and definitely not at the max!
So I wrote a letter to my neighbor, apologizing and explaining that my new habit formed because I took advantage of the year I was neighborless, with no immediate tenants next to my unit. I agreed to keep my stereo at a more appropriate level, but confessed that complete silence wasn’t an option.
I didn’t expect it from her and she couldn’t expect it from me.
I never got an answer to that letter or another call of complaint.
What I got was a lesson in accountability and responsibility; one that I hesitantly remember whenever I reach for that dial.
Retro-gamer Says: