Elephant herds aren’t limited to the wilds & safaris

Evidently I exchanged a neighbor dude with a TV whose volume tests the sound barrier for a herd of elephants.

A herd of two.

The apartment above above has wooden floors. A couple lives there. A man who marches with the heavy gait of a Russian soldier trading through snow.

From the footsteps, he: a large or heavy or simply forceful man Active. Always moving. Young and possibly athletic.

She: average build and height. High heels or lady footwear with hard soles. If he’s the Russian marching soldier, she’s his dainty sidekick — though there’s little dainty about her footsteps. She’s active and young as well.

Mid-30s, both, I guess.

And both: oblivious. O-B-L-I-V-I-O-U-S to the volume of their footsteps, the effect of their hyperactive heavy walking to and fro. Directly above me.

I’ve slept in my new place two nights. All of two nights. Merely two nights.

I’ve got stuff to do — primarily deep cleaning. Hours of dedicated meticulous cleaning and scrubbing of every nook and cranny, some of which haven’t seen a sponge and cleanser for a guesstimated 5 years. I can’t leave. I need to be here.

Both nights I’ve been bombarded by the herd of elephants. His thundering footsteps, her “dainty” high heels. Both running back and forth above me.
Rarely stopping, only pausing through the day and evening.

Though I don’t know their exact floor plan, their activities, sound and limited outside view of their apartment point to their primary living quarters and central path through their space directly above me.

His raucousy cheers suggest he’s a football fan.

Her high-pitched shoutings suggest she doesn’t need to go to him or have him come to her when they communicate.

Based purely on sounds, I picture them a young couple from California. Or some other liberal state whose masses are predominately and unique self-centered, selfish and oblivious, unaware and unconcerned about cares and concerns other than their own.

It’s taking every bit of mettle, every cell of patience and every iota of determination NOT to say anything as I clean. To not knock on their door, introduce myself as their downstairs neighbor and request awareness that their every sound and footstep are transmitted and amplified x 1000 through the wooden floors.

Thank GOD at least that their bedroom evidently isn’t above mine in addition to all the rest!! Their sex sounds through the night: a fucking tortuous NO!!!!!!!!

Last night, only my second here, is noisier than the first.

I’m on my hands and knees for six hours, scrubbing out years of ground-in dirt in linoleum.

If you thought I was gonna say on my hands and knees praying, you wouldn’t be entirely off-base!

I am praying! Praying for their noise to stop. Praying for peace.

Then LOUD banging. Pounding. Poundpoundpoundpoundpound! Like a piece of furniture being constructed or deconstructed.

Then walkwalkwalkwalkwalk that-a-way. The herd of one in motion.

Relief. Momentarily. Then stompstompstompstompstomp back this-a-way. The herd returns.

Furniture scraping against wood. Heavy dragging. Pushing. Squeaking. ThuDThuDthuD.


Crash. Something falling and rolling across the floor.

ARRRRGHHHHHHH!!! Three hours of this! My nerves are saturated. I jump up from my cleaning, literally. I jump outta my skin. I can’t take any more!!!!

I wanna flee. Find some peace. Go for a beer. Or to a motel.

One word keeps hammering away in my consciousness. OBLIVIOUS. They’re obvious to the noise they’re making. Oblivious to the nature of wooden floors to transit and amplify sounds. Oblivious to the impact that they and their activities are having on the neighbors below. Not just me. There’s also a couple beside me.

Were I grinding them, my teeth would shatter for the stress and the DIStress. OBLIVIOUS noisy neighbors.


I try to be still. Remember the hells I went through at my last place with the noisy TV dude and the oppression.

I say nothing. Do nothing. I’ve lived here but two days. Don’t start trouble. Don’t invite trouble. Don’t instigate or initiate trouble with the neighbors upstairs.


If nothing else, I learned that from my last residence. People who appear normal: aren’t. People who may appear civil, caring and understanding: ANYTHING BUT.

Four hours I put up with the elephant herd of two. Put up with the stomach twistings and turnings. The aggravation. The obliviousness. That aggravates me most of all, even more than the noise.

Around 9 p.m., the thunder comes to a rest. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Finally. I can breathe now. Now I can breathe.

This is an old building. Scant to no insulation between the wood floors and my ceiling. (Why my floors are linoleum and carpet is a “mystery.”)

Their EVERY move is amplified x 1,000.

I wish they had a clue. I wish they had awareness. I wish they had sensitivity. I wish they knew that others live around them and specifically below them. I wish they knew that they’re not the center of the universe, only theirs. I wish they’d think about the impact of their marching and high heels on the neighbors below.

I wish they’d be sensitive instead of oblivious. Aware of others instead of just themselves.

I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and keep praying for a resolution that doesn’t involve knocking on their door. I can’t trust they’ll be sane or understanding or cooperative.

I can trust only one power and that power is invisible and greater than theirs, noisy oblivious neighbors they be. That’s the power of my prayer for the universe to resolve this, peacefully and promptly.

Peacefully and promptly … peacefully and promptly … peacefully and promptly … ahhhhhhhhhhhh ………..

zen peace


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