Dear Occupant Of The Room At The End Of The Corridor,
You live in room 518. I live in room 504. That means there are six rooms between us on this side of the hallway. Each room in this dormitory is 10 feet wide. Therefore, you are sixty feet away from me, through six layers of cinderblock walls. WHY CAN I STILL HEAR YOUR STEREO SO CLEARLY THAT I CAN DISCERN THE LYRICS?!? You no longer live at home. You live in a building with hundreds of other people. This would, in a normal, considerate human being, generate a certain amount of respect for others’ aural rights. Apparently you were raised without the idea of volume control. I’ve asked you several times on several occasions to please turn down your stereo a little. I asked as politely as I possibly could, and tried very hard not to sound bitchy and inspire backlash. You CONTINUE to blare your stereo at levels so high that I’m amazed it’s even possible to be in the same room as the speakers without your eardrums bursting and blood pouring out your ears. Then again, that might be your problem; you’ve been listening to the stereo so loud for so long that you NEED to have it set louder than a jet engine just so you can hear it.
Invest in headphones, please. Then you can ruin your own ears without taking out the entire building.
Dear Girl In The Room Directly Over Mine,
When you and your Other are having your nightly bouts in the bed, could you please try not to scream, moan and bounce about so much? The bed is banging into the floor with a horrible clanging. And I really don’t need to hear you telling him how much you want his big, thick cock to fuck you hard. Thanks.
Dear Fucker With The Motorcycle,
I understand that you’re proud of your wheels. I completely understand the urge to drive fast as often as possible. I also understand that the setup of this dorm’s parking lot is ideal for speed practice - it’s a big oval. However, 3[sub]AM[/sub] on weeknights is not the most considerate time to be doing it. Especially since your goddamn crotch-rocket is so loud that it wakes me up when you gun it under my window - and I usually sleep like the dead. Please, if you feel the need to race around, and you’re too much of a dumbass to do it at a track or someplace where you’re actually supposed to drive fast, could you try to restrict yourself to the hours before 2:00? That’s when visiting hours are over, you see, so the girl overhead has to stop banging her boyfriend, and I can finally get some sleep.
Dear Feminist Black Panther English Comp Professor,
I’m sure that everyone in the class has, by now, figured out that I’m a Yankee. It’s not like it’s something I hide. None of them seems to care that much. You can stop with the comments now. No, really. I mean it. Your Yankee jokes were never funny. Really. No. You can stop.
