In the lease.

When I signed my lease for this apartment nearly a year and a half ago, I signed a paper which contained the following clause first and foremost:

1. Stereos, televisions, and loud noise and music should be TONED DOWN after 10:00 p.m. to avoid disturbing your neighbors.

That, along with the rest of the requirements, I just assume people abide by. You know, things like not using cheap adhesives on the wall, and not destroying the apartment, and…after 10, don’t be noisy. Frankly, I didn’t even remember signing that paper with all its requirements (they all seem common sense and common courtesy), and was only reminded of it after speaking to the rental office today.

At first, when the new tenant moved in below me just over a month ago, I thought I’d lucked out. This small building has nice little apartments at very reasonable rent, and I knew it would fill quickly after the last couple moved out.

“He’s very quiet,” I said to my friends. “It’s such a nice change from before.”

Then there was one night of 2 a.m. loudness and friends that woke me up, but I figured once in a while was OK. We all like to have fun.

Then another night.

And another.

I realized this was going to be a problem.

Then came Monday and Tuesday of this week, in which the self-appointed King of the Dumbasses and a couple of his village idiot friends turned up the music and got the female in the party to laugh like a donkey at all of their stupid jokes.

Monday and Tuesday? Seriously?

I’m tired. I work a job like everyone else. I mop floors, wash lots of dishes, cook, bake, and then come home to try to make my own online business work. I drink some tea, read, and call it a day. Really, at this point, all I really want in life is a good night’s sleep. It’s dark and cold and I just want to go to bed and rest and get ready to do it all over again the next day.

Please, God, let them just be quiet tonight so that I can get some sleep, I would think as I flipped out the bedroom night and crawled into bed.

At 1:30 last night, it began again. I laid in bed, groggily coming around to consciousness to the grating noise of bad rock music and a donkey laugh.

Try to ignore it and go back to sleep, I thought.

The music and voices were loud, though, and I was at my breaking point. It wasn’t across the street, or the house next door. It was right below me, and too loud to drown out with a white noise machine or CD. I wasn’t going to let this eat away at me multiple times per week when I’m paying the same rent as The Dumbass King and his citizenry below.

I walked into the living room, seething, eyes still bleary. I stomped on the floor three or four times. “Would you please turn down your music!” I said loudly.

The conversation that had been so loud the moment before suddenly stopped. I heard the female voice ask if the knocking had come from outside. The music blared on.

I stomped on the floor again, preparing to make my same request, when one of the guys from below pounded back on the ceiling. “Piss off!” he hollered, the others breaking into loud laughter. “I’m stoned!”

I clenched my fists. Now what? And then I wondered if this moron would still think it hilarious if he ended up getting kicked out of the apartment he just hauled all his junk into.

I promptly sat down at my computer and typed down all the details of the incident, noting all the times. (I will be keeping a record of all such incidents from here on out.) I entered the police department phone number into my cell phone for quick access. I made sure I had the correct phone number for my landlord.

Somewhere around 2 a.m. everyone left, talking loudly and making fun of the incident as they were walking below my bedroom window on their way out.

Oh to be an ignorant college kid thinking that the upper hand was theirs, and that some old bat living upstairs has to shut up and take it without any recourse.

I was able to fall back asleep.

You know, I’m pretty easy to get along with.

I’m not looking for a fight.

I understand having a party on a Friday or Saturday night once in a while.

I’m willing to take steps to cover over things that annoy, because life is about overlapping and most of the time people aren’t trying to cause a problem; they’re just living life. I used a white noise machine to cover over a summer of loud partying, fireworks at 2 and 3 a.m. Only one time did I snap.

I called my landlord’s office the next morning, just after arriving to work.

I laid out all the details. “If this keeps on, I am going to have to find somewhere else to live,” I said. “I can’t get any decent sleep.”

I’m a good tenant — quiet, pay the rent early, take care of the apartment, not prone to complaints or constant requests. Follow the rules. I’ve been here a while; it’s not as if they’re going to want to see me go.

The woman on the other end was adamant that this would be dealt with and that that would not be necessary. I was told that someone would speak with the guy right away, that he was breaking his rental agreement by being noisy at that time of night, and that if it happened again to promptly call the police and then let them know. Eviction was mentioned. It’s not as if they’d have any trouble finding a new tenant for this apartment in this town. My landlord is quite aggressive in maintaining his rental properties to a certain standard — I will hand him that.

I’m not looking for a fight, that’s true, but I’ll give you one if you keep pushing me to the point where I go over the edge. If the guy living below me so much as breaks wind audibly or in my direction at 10:05 p.m., I’m calling the cops and then the landlord.

No one tells me to piss off in my own apartment at 1:30 a.m. when I’m trying to sleep.

No one.