First off, I'd like to open that, while my previous letter obviously never reached the eyes of my neighbours in 3S, one of them did come forth to ask about what irritation the dog in question posed, and to proffer a standing invitation to inform upon it to them, should it once again cross my ear canal in a vexing manner. The whole issue in question stands to be resolved completely by the purchase of a barking collar. I'd like to believe that, through some unknown power of my words, the neighbours heard my pleas and lamentations, and thus took action to right the situation. Furthermore, I hope the same uncommon powers are to be found in this non-correspondance, before I am regrettably inclined to set one of the units in my building on fire, which would be obviously regretful, as the units are connected.
Dearest residents of 61 3S- I hate you. This may seem presumptuous, as we've never had the (I'm sure) pleasure of being introduced, but let me assure you that the tiny glimpses into your life I have made as your across-the-courtyard neighbours make me quite sure that I loathe you with every exhausted fibre of my being. I see you across the yard- your sparse walls, the shoddy IKEA desk shoved awkwardly beneath your alcove window, your $4 plastic lawn chairs on your porch, the nigh empty kitchen with naught but a card table. Part of my loathing comes from my familiarity with your situation- it's been less than two years since I graduated (albeit barely) undergrad, where I was intimately at home in such surroundings. I understand being poor- having recently completed my masters, and with the prospect of PhD school ahead, along with my day-to-day life as a minimum-waged barista, I know that life isn't funded by trust funds and lottery tickets for everyone. I don't need the works of the late Thomas Kinkade gracing your plaster walls.
What I do need is some goddamned quiet.
I'm not sure if you've noticed the time. Surely you haven't, for you and your friends are no doubt caught up in glorious revelry. Allow me to inform you that it is 1:16 am, Central Standard Time. Furthermore, it is a Thursday. I'm aware it is also a holiday weekend, but the holiday in question falls on a Monday.
Now, as college students, I'm sure it's easy to forget that many people in the world have 9-5 jobs, slaving away in cubicles and questioning every life choice that led them dread waking up in the morning to trudge on with their miserable existence. Don't worry, given the current job market, you're never likely to actually suffer that fate. Odds are your fate will be more similar to my own, in which you have irregular hours every week, which add up to something just shy of 35 so that you cannot receive proper benefits or a salary wage. Did I mention that your hourly wage will be in the single digits? Oh, sure, if you're lucky there might be some decimals involved, but you're definitely looking down the barrel of a gun that holds no bullet but the knowledge that your work is meaningless and that you could easily be replaced by a well-trained labradoodle or a semi-trained chimpanzee. It comforts me that you'll suffer so, because hopefully you will also have to suffer as I do now- being kept awake by an undistinguishable bass line and the hollers of drunken buffoons.
I get that drinking to excess is fun. Hell, I plan on doing so myself tomorrow. Oh, have I told you about tomorrow yet? You see, I get to, after five months of absence, reunite with my friends and colleagues from my home state. They are a lovely bunch of people, I assure you, and not so long ago we were just like you. With the distinct difference being that we lived in a college town, surrounded by other college people, who were likewise very into the whole "drinking" and "not doing anything else" thing. Though our behaviour was no doubt questionable in its own right, it had the merit of being conducted in a contained environment. I'm not sure if you're aware, but there is no college campus nearby. I'm sorry, but the local community college doesn't count. If you're looking for campus life, you'll note that we're very near the CTA Red Line, and that a short trip in either direction will take you to either DePaul University (it's off the Fullerton stop, there's a big stadium, you can't miss it) or Loyola University (It's off the imaginatively named "Loyola" stop.) Both Rogers' and Lincoln Park are appropriately accommodated for such riotous celebrations.
Uptown is not like the Parks I have just mentioned. Uptown is properly equipped for serving two specific groups of people: mid- to late- twentysomethings, just beginning their life in the big city, looking for a quiet and affordable place to start a life for themselves; and terrifying thugs looking to deal drugs and shoot their rivals. I confess these two demographics may seem somewhat at odds, but both would likely agree that a bunch of college-ages white kids listening to music that seems to be comprised entirely of the same bass line for three hours interspersed with drunk yelling is the most unsavoury and unwelcome addition to the neighbourhood.
Back to the thing about my tomorrow: I'm going "home." Not to my true home, which will always be here, despite the fact that you are destroying my happiness right now, but to the home in which I was raised (at least partially) in the suburbs of lovely Cleveland Ohio. And boy, do I have a full day ahead of me! I have to get to the airport by six, get picked up at 10EST, take my father to physical therapy, get my hair cut, and then meet my own friends for responsible, over-aged drinking. You'll not there's not a lot of down time pencilled in. Additionally, I worked the closing shift at the aforementioned craptastic job tonight, meaning I did not get home until nearly 11pm CST, when your party was already in full swing. Also, an 8 am flight means being at Midway by 6 am, which means being on the train absolutely no later than about 4:45. That is three hours and ten minutes from now, by the way.
I'm not calling 311 for several reasons. First, I suspect there is underaged drinking occurring at this soiree, and while I'm a curmudgeonly old woman at 24, I'm not completely heartless. Furthermore, I'm not actually sure if a noise ordinance would even be served, as technically you're on private property and the noise ordinance laws aren't completely clear on that front what happens. Finally, I'm convinced Chicago's finest have better things to do than yell at some stupid kids with their stupid party. For example, they could be getting those drug dealers and murderers previously alluded to.
The moral of the story here is that you should probably take the time to realise you live in a neighbourhood with real adults with real responsibilities, and you have to be respectful of that. If I moved back onto 16th in Columbus, I'd have nothing to complain about. That's a college campus- drinking and partying are expected there. No one could begrudge such behaviour, even on a weeknight. But here in the city, nowhere near a school, people have to trudge out of bed and go to work all day tomorrow. While you're sleeping off your hangover while the sun blazes down on you, they'll be squinting at a computer with their third cup of coffee. Spend just like, thirty seconds thinking about someone besides yourself, and abide by the platinum rule, which is: enjoy yourself, but don't be an asshole.