Ding Dong! The Jig is Dead!

When I came to San Diego in January, the apartment where I would be staying was mostly a quiet one. In the evenings, I was told, you could expect to hear the resident one floor above (affectionately dubbed Thumper and assumed to be female) scurrying about at top speed. On the weekends, you could expect to hear the downstairs neighbor playing his music too loudly and entertaining guests.

By April, through my continued stay, I had become as familiar with the pattern as had my parents, for whom the apartment had been secured, in their frequent visits. But in April the pattern changed. The music downstairs was no longer confined to the weekends. Or the evenings. At any time of day or night, a loud base line could be heard. And felt. It was no longer simply too loud. It was Earth-shaking. Mr. Jiggy-With-It had arrived.

No one had moved out of the apartment below when the Jigster moved in; he was joining their number and upping their game. As a group they were intolerable: loud, obnoxious, rude, and omnipresent. The next three months were one big party in the apartment downstairs. And one big headache in the block of apartments above it.

Neighbors on all sides moved out during those three months. Even Thumper. But directly above the offending apartment and most affected by it, I stayed, fervently wishing to be heavily armed and legally free to open fire. Now, I do not approve of gunplay and would never under normal circumstances wish dead anybody who hadn’t previously dated my boyfriend, but in my fantasies I was willing to overlook my nice Catholic girl prejudices for a little quiet.

Fortunately, time has brought us around to another “A” month and another, more welcome, change of pattern. On the first weekend of August, I spied one of my downstairs neighbors moving his things to a portable storage unit. On the second weekend, I witnessed the remaining roommates finish the job. Mr. Jiggy-With-It has gone. Peace is restored. The apartment is quiet again.

At least until the next guy moves in.

PS: Happy Birthday, Jake!