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College apartment living embraced an “anything goes” mentality. Maybe it was because rent in our college towns was likely much cheaper than our over-priced yuppie dwellings or the fact that all of our home furnishings were hand-me-downs from our parents who used getting rid of us as an excuse to get new stuff that they hoped we wouldn’t be around to destroy. However, now that we are making at least a little bit of money, that gross college couch that your friends spilled drinks/puked/banged/etc. on is finding its way to your nearest dumpster and nicer shit is finding its way in. As our apartments get more expensive (and hopefully nicer) and our belongings get more refined, there is some apartment living behavior that should also find its way out the door along with the college sin-soiled couch.
Don’t get me wrong; apartment ragers are still perfectly acceptable as a postgrad pastime. I should know, as I stumble upon another beer can that has mysteriously managed to not find its way to a trash can since last weekend. (Side note: they end up in the weirdest places. Like, who the eff was drinking in my closet? Me? Okay, probably. Moving on.) Feel free to demolish the inside of your own adult place as you drunkenly deem necessary. What isn’t okay is leaving the remnants of your debauchery that has spilled onto community/someone else’s space. Trash bags and ashtrays just aren’t that hard to use. Your cig-flick skills will not suffer irreparable damage by just sticking it in your most recently finished beer can, then placing it in the trash. Life skills here, people. Also, to the intoxicated gentleman who knocked over everyone’s trashcan, punched the breezeway wall, and rammed the entrance gate with his vehicle, just know even your friends hate you. Don’t be that guy. Party. Pick up after yourself. Don’t break other people’s shit.
Poor Pet Etiquette
So, you’ve made the commitment of getting a pet. Good for you. Your inner monologue has decided you’re more responsible than I. However, I have some devastating news for some of you: you’re likely the only person who likes your dog as much as you do. This may sound harsh, but have you ever heard anyone say, “Man, I really love when so-and-so brings their kid over to my place, lets it jump on me, run around and scream like crazy, and then it shits its diaper which subsequently goes in my trash can,”? You probably haven’t, because while someone may tolerate your child, it’s not their own, which means a diminished sense of care and an escalated level of intolerability. These non-owner feelings are even greater when we are discussing animals over humans. As far as your equal-premium-rent-paying neighbors are concerned, the apartment courtyard is not your private backyard. This means you should utilize two things: leashes and a pooper scooper/shit sack/JUST PICK UP YOUR DOG’S FECES AND KEEP IT OFF OF OTHERS.
Parking Like An Asshole
By now, we’ve all been driving for long enough that we can hopefully manage to park a vehicle not only between the lines, but additionally, at least semi-evenly between those lines. Spoiler alert: driving some sort of monstrosity doesn’t exempt you from this requirement. I have a very obscure sense of the dimensions of my soccer mom (minus the kids) SUV; therefore, if I can manage to pull off proper parking (even if it does take me a couple tries), so can bubba in his monster truck two spaces down.
For the sake of not sounding like the old bitch in apartment 4B, I’ll cut the list off here. In college, unless you had one of those weirdos who didn’t party balls living next door, likely no one complained because you knew at some point (tomorrow) you’d be 25 people deep in your 800-square-foot space, all of whom parked wherever they damn well pleased, throwing beer cans on the ground and flicking cigs in your neighbors yard, all the while letting the dog ravage the neighborhood. However, this quid pro quo relationship with your cool neighbors is long gone. I haven’t figured out if the people above me run a karate studio, are sumo wrestlers, or simply weigh 700 pounds each. Hell, some days it sounds like all of the above, but that’s just a nuance that comes with apartment living. However, the easily rectifiable common courtesy that comes with attempting to not live like an animal is definitely something to strive for. Also, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the residents of my apartment community for the conspicuous, after-hours hot tub party I threw last Friday night. You’d actually have found my behavior rather impressive had you been aware of my BAC.