The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

SMU professor Susanne Scholz in the West Bank in 2018.
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Sara Hummadi, Video Editor • May 18, 2024
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Lovin’ next door

 Lovin next door
Lovin’ next door

Lovin’ next door

It all started with “Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson. I was convinced that every time Gretchen sang, “Cause I’m a redneck woman, I ain’t no high class broad” at full blast, it was meant to drown out other noises.

You see, the walls to my apartment are paper-thin, so I can hear everything that goes on. Even the slightest whisper and the faintest breath can be heard. Whispers aren’t the problem, however. The new sound system, blasting 400 watts of power, sending a stream of bass through my walls, tipping over my picture frames, is the problem. One day I decided to walk over there and politely ask them to turn down the music. My roommate told me to be mean and intimidating, but standing next to two huge guys who are athletes, I don’t know that this 5-foot Asian girl can even come off as serious. So I walk over there, and the door is wide open with the music blaring. I knock on the door and let out a very faint “Hello?” All the while, my roommate is watching from our apartment with just her head poked out of the door, in a ready position to take the flight option over fight.

I knock again.

“Hello?” One of the neighbors comes to the door.

“Umm, I don’t mind that the music is loud, but maybe not as loud? Even my walls are shaking,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that? I’ll turn it down,” he replies.

I stroll back to my apartment. Well that was easy. A little too easy. In fact, for weeks, there was no music at all. I guess I was pretty intimidating. I honestly never meant for the music to be turned off completely, just turned down. Little did I know, it was the start of something else.

The other night, I went to bed. It’s 3 a.m. I’ve brushed my teeth, washed my face, used the potty and gotten so fresh and so clean. I tuck myself into bed, and just as I begin to doze off, I hear sounds. No mice are stirring, no music is playing, no drunks are stumbling in. Something is squeaking. Now, I could be wrong about this one, but I suspect my neighbor was doing something other than studying. The sound of a bed frame squeaking to a constant and steady rhythm is a dead giveaway that something is going on. Someone is getting it on.

I’m lying in bed, now wide-awake, listening to this steady squeaking. At this point, I want Gretchen back. Nearly 10 minutes go by, and I’m still awake, wondering if the mission is ever going to be completed. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, they’ve tired themselves out.

My roommate and I are tempted to yell through the walls and say something like, “Is that the same girl?” We’re also waiting to hear, “Aw, it’s okay. It happens.” And just when it does, we’ll be ready to yell out a quote from Friends: “It’s not that common! It doesn’t happen to everyone, and it is a big deal!”

I’m thinking I may have to rearrange my room now so that my bed isn’t against the wall. I was also thinking I could keep a stopwatch nearby to time them. When they can break fifteen minutes, I’ll yell, “And we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen!”

It certainly doesn’t sound like my neighbors need me to lend them any sugar. They’re getting plenty of sugar already. Take if from me: when your neighbor wants to turn on his system full blast, let him. It’s either that or the sound of a bed frame that needs to be oiled.

Another thing: neighbors don’t let neighbors listen to them get it on. If you must resort to Gretchen, by all means, please do. I never really thought of “Redneck Woman” as a good song to tango to, but I suppose it’s just a matter of preference. If Gretchen does it for you, then okay. I’m not judging.

This has been a public non-service announcement.

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