follow up

so... as promised: the follow up to the naked man story.

as whitney recounted, one evening as we were leaving out apartment, the downstairs neighbor came out to yell at us for the insupportable amounts of noise we made on an ever constant basis. (i still think his hearing is above and beyond that of any canine to have ever lived... but that's me.)

since we've already covered that part in whitney's post, i will spare you to gory details.

the next evening, as i'm cooking dinner, i can hear him -- as usual -- making little grunts and noises with every other step i take. i'm doing the best i can to not make noise... but when you live in a building constructed in the 1800's, there's really only so much that can be reasonable expected. the floor is wood planks... i mean, you look at the poor, warped thing at it creaks in protest!

right... cooking dinner... and i get in to the freezer to pull out a couple of chicken thighs -- i'm making BBQ chicken for dinner, with mashed potatoes and corn. we've got a half dozen or more legs jammed into our freezer that's the size of a large shoebox. seeing as they're all stuffed in there, as i pulled to two nearest the front out, the others decide they'd shift to make more room. this ends in one jumping out, in addition to the two i'm already holding. i do my best -- my leg clamp together like bear trap, my hands go in for the save... but despite my efforts, the third chunk o' chicken escapes to the ground. this has the effect of dropping a large rock.

from below: “MERDE!”

it took a great amount of effort on my part to not start yelling down through to floor to the guy that i just dropped a chicken, and there's no need to go off having an aneurism. i manage to refrain.

i must remind the public at this time that we'd been living in the place for five months. during the first month, we didn't realize to what extent the walls and floors of the place are like rice paper. at the time, the concierge came up and said that there were some complaints (i suspect they all came from the same guy...) about the level of noise that we were making. (this level of noise was normal conversation, mingled with the occasional fit of laughter... we didn't have a TV or anything, so it was just our normal decibel output.) we toned it down... and a few weeks later, the same comment, but with a side note from the concierge that the guy that was complaining was an old, ornery fella who complained about everything, and that we didn't have to go out of our way to be overly quiet... we were well within our rights as far as any disturbance of the peace laws are concerned. we still made extreme efforts, but despite these, almost every day we'd hear cries of muffled outrage rise up through the ceiling... sometimes every 5 minutes for an hour... despite the fact that we were almost not moving, and doing what little movement we needed to in the quietest manner possible.

needless to say, i was fed up with this guy, and quite ready to go down and give him several very large pieces of my mind. for those who know me well... i don't do stuff like that.

where was i? ah, yes... “MERDE!”

he then yells a sting of muffled french, and think he went downstairs, slamming his door on the way, to see the concierge. he might have just called him on the phone. i don't know... this was months ago (sorry).

a bit later, i hear the concierge talking to him, as he's yelling things about how we're making all this noise on purpose just to vex him. (this i hear as i had my ear pressed to the floor to see what all the ruckus was about. i'd actually been tempted to do that. the evening before, when he came out to yell at me in the hallway, and accused of stomping our feet about everywhere we walked... i was on the point of telling him that if that's what he thought we were doing... i'd show him what that was like... give him a week of it, and see how much better he liked the way we actually we comporting ourselves. again... i decided against this. sometimes christian acts are so frustrating...) a few minutes later the concierge came up to our place, and asked if i could come down with him to talk to the guy.

so down we go.

we get to the apartment, and he the first thing he (pierre... the neighbor) says is, “i don't want to have a yelling match, i want to talk like civilized people.” this became a theme for the conversation over the next 20 minutes, as mostly he and the concierge would get over excited and start raising their voices. i did once or twice... but only because he refused to let me speak. i hate that. more than almost anything i HATE it when someone wants to talk and discuss... and doesn't let the other party have two words, but talks and talks, and interrupts... and gets mad at the OTHER person for interrupted when they try to say more than two words. oh that boils my blood...

so, we talked. the concierge left, because he was missing his soccer match, and pierre and i talked for the next hour or so. he smoked... i sat... we talked. i told him we were doing everything we possibly could, but that i weight 210 lbs, and the floors aren't exactly the image of solidity. i can make them squeak even without moving... just a slight shift in my weight. once he found out i'm as big as i am, he calmed down a bit.

so we talked, and just... yeah... talked. i sat on the chair, and he sat on the bed in his navy blue speedo and white t-shirt.

he was much better after that.

now every time we see him, we joke around. we took him some cheesecake, and he
brought us some croissants and strawberries. once we saw him at a café in the next
town over, and he invited us to sit, and bought us some drinks.

we still get a “merde” now and then when we drop something... but things are much
better. he's a nice guy... just an ornery retired man who wants to live the rest of his days in quiet, sleeping until noon and going to bed at 9.

i think he needs to move to a retirement home if that's what he wants... but what do i know?