After coming home from work tonight, I sat down to some reheated chicken, an English muffin, and some Fritos for dinner. I watched a the last bit of a fascinating PBS American Experience documentary on the first transatlantic cable to be laid.
I kept the volume low, as Megan was sleeping–which is when I realized that the neighbor underneath me wasn’t being quite so considerate. Loud-ish basslines were coming up from the floor below, making it difficult to hear my quiet documentary. I ignored it, because I know I’m occasionally fairly loud. My neighbors deserve the same opportunity to be obnoxious.
The documentary finished, and I opened a book to read for a while before going to bed. The noise from the floor below continued, and I finally realized that’s it’s been playing the same hard rock station all night. Belatedly, I also realized that it’s the same hard rock station that had been playing when I left for work this afternoon. The 50-ish widow who lives in the apartment is in the process of moving out–some asshole repairman or painter had turned on the radio, cranked it loud enough for me to recognize Linkin Park through the floorboards, and left.
So, finally, at 2:00am, I grabbed a flashlight and went into the basement.
I made my way through the filthy 100-year-old dank basement for the electrical panels. Once there, I tried to trace the wiring conduits through the holes in the exposed floor joists, but lost them after a few meters. Finally, I gave up and just stared at the breaker boxes. There were three of them, all configured identically. By my logic, the breaker box on the left would be for the first floor. I hoped that whatever electrician had wired this place thought similarly, and started flipping switches.
*click* – Nothing. I flipped it back.
*click* – Nothing.
*click* – Did that light over there just go off? I flipped it back on. Yeah, it did.
*click* – AC/DC abruptly stopped mid-shriek. Bingo.
My goal accomplished, I smugly went back upstairs, opened my book, and read in well-earned peace and quiet.