feet upon my head

A couple of months ago a women moves into the apartment directly above mine.  She's probably in her early 70's, from a country whose accent I don’t recognize.

My first introduction to her is the weekend she moves in. She and her sister are moving furniture around at 7am on a Saturday morning. Some big metal thing drops, and it sounds like it’s about to land on my sleeping head. I go up and introduce myself, then remind her that it's seven a.m. on a weekend morning — not a good time to be rearranging furniture.  I’m sure she is thrilled to meet me.

For the past two months I have suffered through her footsteps across my head. At midnight, I hear them.  Clomp, clomping on my ceiling.  And at seven in the morning, I hear them.  She is not a big women.  But her footsteps sound gigantic.

I write to Lauren (not her real name) who is the managing agent for this building. Lauren confirms that it is written into every lease that floors need to be covered 80%.  The reason for this is obvious.

Lauren calls the woman and relays the rules.

Weeks go by and there is no change.  So today, for the second time, I visit my upstairs neighbor.  This time her sister answers, and the visit is not a cordial one.

“You bother my sister all the time.  You come up here every day.”

“I’m sorry.  This is only my second time.”

“Well my sister is recovering from surgery.  She is sick.  We do not have time for rugs.”

“I’m sorry your sister is sick but it’s a clause in your lease that you need to have rugs.”  (I say this as I am staring at her totally bare floors).

“And we got up early this morning because our toilet is leaking.” The relevance of this comment escapes me.

I come back to my apartment, having accomplished nothing, and write to Lauren.

Then the actual tenant— the one recuperating from surgery — comes down to my apartment (in her bathrobe).  I answer my door and invite her in.  She declines, and instead, just stands at the door screaming at me.  Then she leaves.

Soon after, I get a call from Lauren to discuss the issue.

“Well, Lyn, I really don’t want to play the role of the rug police.  But if we tell one tenant they have to get rugs, then I have to make sure every tenant complies with the rules.  That means I’d have to send a letter to everyone in the building alerting them to the clause in their lease, and then I’d have to check everyone's apartment.”

I know she wants me to say, “Oh, Lauren, gosh, please don’t do that.  Just forget I ever said anything.”

But instead I say, “Well, I think that’d be extreme and unnecessary, but I can’t tell you how to do your job.”  We hang up.

Five minutes later Lauren calls back.  “I’ve been thinking.  How about that instead of my sending a letter to everyone, we give the tenant a week to get new rugs?”  I counter with, “That’s fine.  In fact, let’s give her two.”

We’ll see what happens next, but my guess is nothing.