An Open Letter

To the woman that lives above us:

Ma’am, I must plead my case with you. You walk with lead feet. Your steps are so small and fast that it sounds like bullets hitting tin when you wear heels. You shuffle like the party just won’t stop. You never, ever leave your apartment, so this noise you rain on our eardrums, we are never free from it. In an effort to alleviate our senses and nerves, I write to you out of desperation.

The quote is “walk softly and carry a big stick.”  Okay, so I took some literary license with that one (as the quote, once utter by Theodore Roosevelt is, “speak softly and carry a big stick”), but the point remains: your heavy saunter is destroying my sanity. Sometimes, your footsteps’ reverb is so loud through our apartment that I can no longer hear my television. Seriously. How does someone as thin and little as you make so much damn noise! 

Right now, it sounded like you rolled a bowling ball into your kitchen. Did you recently install an alley up there? I know we live in a quiet, boring part of Oklahoma City that is both “too east” and “too north” because of “those people”, but I assure you, we’re not too far from entertainment that it required you to install such a large project in your apartment.  And, actually, I’m fairly certain there is a “no bowling alley” clause in your rental agreement. I think it conflicts with the subleasing terms.  I think.

So, please, if there is anything kindness in your leadened feet (or heart), please consider socks. Or perhaps lifting your feet. Or maybe tiptoes. Anything that does not sound like you are jackhammering into our ceiling?

With sincerity and the hope you are not the poop-tattlers,

The neighbor below you with the ringing eardrums

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