In college, noise complaints are no big deal. In the real world though, all bets are off. In San Francisco, the problem is magnified because the buildings are basically on top of each other and nine out of 10 people who live there believe themselves to be intellectually superior than the rest of the world. Over the weekend, a couple college classmates of mine learned just how awful some neighbors can be. Below is a note that was left on their door:
In case you can’t read that, here’s the full text:
Thank you for ensuring that all your neighbors, even people that do not live in your building, can hear your charming music. Shakespeare said of music: “If music be the food of love, play on.” You certainly have yourselves a buffet-orgy up there in your penthouse. Your taste in music must be a reflection of your lovely personalities: abrasive, pathetic, basal, pedestrian, and uninspired. It’s obvious by the “bass down low” music you share with San Francisco, that the flaps of flesh dangling between your legs are the maestri leading your musical choices. Bravissimi to your titillating testicular tintinnabuli.
I’ve taken the liberty of tracking down your landlord, and cannot wait to share recordings of your effluent tunes that stream across walls and into my home. I’m sure that your landlord will appreciate having to share the rent with me, repaying me for disturbing my peace. I’ve also informed the surrounding neighbors of my actions, including those whose backyards abut yours, encouraging them to also loge formal complaints to your landlord, and if need be, the Renter’s Association.
Please also know that I appreciate your scantly dressed harlots that parade in front of your building, shamelessly screeching over your music to capture your deft attention (perhaps “deaf” is more apt). Much like Romeo and Juliet shared valentines over balconies, you continue to woo your precious tramps with sweet love songs, publicly identifying yourselves as the neighborhood’s unapologetic pimps. How romantic. If only you had a Cyrano to guide your conversations.
It is especially pleasing to be able to stare at these vixens’ ill-fitting skirts, with pinprick nipples proudly jetting out from their thin white silk slips, which they confuse for shirts. Best is when they leave your abode, after much imbibing, in their high heals, bravely swaggering and swaying downhill, stopping every few steps to catch their balance before they face plant into pavement. Brave ladies, for dressing sensibly in chilly, hilly San Francisco. Please share with them my esteem for their bravery and class – bolding saying, “I’m a whore, and I want everyone in Russian Hill to know that I’m proud of it!”
Gentleman, I hope that the remainder of your weekend is splendid, and that you proceed to copulate with countless desperate women. It is a testament to your masculinity that you are able to capture the hearts and cunts of such intelligent and beautiful women – but with such expressive music what else could be expected.
Your Most Appreciative Neighbor
There’s so much in this letter that I don’t even know where to begin. The letter itself is two pages, because this author’s eloquent prose couldn’t be contained to just one page. He or she also took the liberty of bolding and highlighting some key sentences. As if the prose itself didn’t scream “I’m a huge douchebag,” the author made sure everyone would know, by adding these nice touches of formatting. Frankly, I think there was a missed opportunity to go full-on Dan Gilbert and throw in some all caps and Comic Sans.
What first jumped out to me about the actual text (probably because I was an English major) are the literary references. I count three in the letter: two Shakespeare and one Cyrano de Bergerac. Because nothing says I’m educated and classy like a good old Billy Shakespeare reference. But in case you still weren’t convinced of this author’s educational prowess, he or she shows off the range of his or her vocabulary by using words like “basal,” “deft,” “copulate,” “abode,” “Bravissimi,” “titillating,” and “tintinnabuli.” Nothing says “I’m an asshole” like throwing a foreign language into the mix. I will say though, I did appreciate the alliteration of “titillating testicular tintinnabuli.” Well constructed.
It would seem to me that this author’s attempt to sound over-educated in the letter would stem from a belief that the people to whom he is writing the letter are relatively uneducated. The author refers to the guys as “abrasive, pathetic, basal, pedestrian, and uninspired” and the ladies as “harlots,” “tramps,” and “whores.” The assumption seems to be that guys who listen to EDM and hook up with attractive women can’t possibly be educated, and that women who like to dress up on the weekend for attention are uneducated sluts. Well, the joke is on the author, because the three guys living in that apartment are all highly educated graduates of Yale University, and I would imagine some of those girls are our classmates who live in San Francisco. Surprise! Even Ivy Leaguers like to party and have sex.
In closing, I would like to personally reach out to both my classmates and the author of the letter. To my classmates, I would suggest this as an appropriate response:
And to the author, I, too, know a few Shakespeare quotes, and you, madam or sir, are a “whoreson, senseless villain” and “such antics do not amount to a man.” That having been said, I would love to get together with you sometime. I’ll pour you a scotch and tell you all about my senior thesis on Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar” and “Antony and Cleopatra.” I think you will appreciate my views on Shakespeare’s interpretation of Rome and whether duty to the state was a more preferable virtue than love. Alternatively, you could just go fuck yourself and let the kids have their fun. After all, “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” And you, dear author, are the villain in this production..