A Letter of Complaint

Dear frat boys that live above me,

 You are loud. You are beyond loud. It has gotten to the point where you have woken me from my sweet slumber, reminding me in the middle of the night that I’m being pierced by the springs of my victim-of-budget-cuts mattress.

The bass from your “music” thumps my room and sometimes shakes my window. I would enjoy it a lot more if I could hear all elements of whatever you’re always listening to, but instead I only receive the vibrations that simply sound like one of you farting out of your window on to mine.

Also, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from rearranging your furniture at two in the morning. Maybe you haven’t gotten the feng shui of your room quite right, but it would be really cool if you could work on that during the daylight. I apologize if one of you is just terribly obese and falls out of bed in the middle of the night three times a week… my mistake.

I have reported you twice to the front desk. Yes, I’m that girl. They say things like “we’ll take care of that” or “I’ll look into that.” I know for a fact they haven’t because 1) they’re college students and, regardless of being RAs, are probably of the same grade as you, friends with you, or you’re by some wild chance “cool” and they want you’re approval and 2) you haven’t stopped.

One night when I was chatting it up with the lady at the front desk about your barbarian behavior, she informed me that you were fraternity members practicing for the sorority vs. fraternity lip-syncing competition that was coming up. So, you were dancing. Okay, I can deal with that. I was just relieved to have a reason.

So then I spied on you one afternoon. I watched Harriet the Spy far too often throughout my childhood to let my keenly developed spy skills go to waste. Not only was your door open (a concept popular to dorm dwellers that I don’t understand), but you were also blaring your music and talking about “that bitch” and “getting crunk.” Needless to say, you adequately met my expectations.

I crossed off on my calendar as the days drew closer to the lip-syncing competition. I almost wanted to attend just to see if I could tell which frat was yours, considering I could almost do the dance routine for you I’d heard it stomping from my ceiling so many nights. But, alas, I didn’t go. I was enjoying quiet time in my room knowing you wouldn’t be there.

Sincerely,

that girl that lives below us, no not “the hot one” the other one

Sidenote: This may be the first of many notes to my neighbors. They all suck.