“In the quiet of the courtyard we begin to hear their sexual antics”: the worst in the neighborhood

In Le Pire du Pire, we give you the word to exorcise your worst memories and anecdotes. For this new part, you told us how a neighbor ruined your life…

Jean-Michel without embarrassment

My story is terribly banal: it is that of a neighbor with whom it is impossible to argue, and who gradually increases the pressure with attacks that, taken one by one, seem insignificant…

At the time I was living in a facility for disabled people. Since it is a structure that can be joined upon request for a maximum four-year contract, I often changed neighbors.

But hell began for me the day the third neighbor who moved in started ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night because he was locked out of the house because he forgot his keys (ringing is an understatement, it rang so loud and for a long time even when the neighbors rang, I heard their doorbell). Except that it happened EVERY week around 2 in the morning… And every time he promised not to forget the keys again…

Except that after the tenth time I realized that if he rang the doorbell and “forgot” the keys, it was precisely because every time he found a lucky neighbor who opened the door for him… It was right, where he also knocked on the windows to make him open… It was called to order by the structure, this didn’t change anything… I had to disconnect the intercom to be able to sleep peacefully… I went to bed anxious about waking up with a start from the shrill sound of the doorbell or the deep sound of his fist against a shutter… It’s to the point that in the facility meetings, the animosity between us neighbors and him, has reached new heights…

On top of that, he regularly came to ring my doorbell to ask for money and matches… Only for this he used charm and manipulation:

“No, but won’t you leave your neighbor in need? If it were you, I would have done you a favor! Come on, it’s not much! Do I have to complain to the facility manager? »…

And he would stick his hand or foot in the door to stop me from slamming it in his face…

For this reason I never accepted his invitations because I knew that it was the guarantee that he would show up at my door to ask me even more things.

Furthermore, he wasn’t ashamed, he left clichés dirty, he threw seeds out of the window, he played loud music from 7 in the morning…

All this accumulation of little annoyances made my life hell. What made the situation worse was the fact that it was unavoidable, given that we were in a social structure. All we were told was to be patient and compassionate because his problems were due to personal issues. I was the one who ended up leaving, bitter, knowing that he would continue with the other neighbors.


Read also: I hate my upstairs neighborbut at the same time I haunt him a little

An intense neighbor

A former neighbor in her nineties, too senile to live normally, but not old enough to be admitted to a specialized home, who had a characteristic attack: panic attacks in the middle of the night that woke up the entire building. A nocturnal ode that required the intervention of the firefighters more than once.

You have to imagine 3am on Saturday, my neighbor’s moaning, the firefighters telling her to open the door, the 300 year old shouting “ NO MAYBE THIEVES »the firefighters who respond “But…it was you who called us”. The door that ends up opening, the neighbor who shouts it out “Everything is finally okay”and the firefighters, disconcerted, still forced to check that everything is in order, who ask her if she doesn’t want to come with them to do the tests at the hospital, the neighbor who calls on all her dignity to get angry, the firefighters who they give up, the neighborhood goes back to bed…

Then the following Saturday…at 6am…the fire alarm goes off and an old burning smell wafts through the halls. At this point, all the neighbors are pretty drunk and decide it’s definitely not worth getting out of bed.

However, I decide to go down one floor wearing my best slippers to see what’s going on. I discover an open door, an alarm clock ringing (at a gigantic volume) and an old lady sitting in the corridor telling me “I don’t know why it rings”. So I ask him to let me in so we can see what’s going on. Then I discover a pan on the electric hob in the kitchen whose contents have disappeared for at least 30 minutes and which continues to cook.

I finally learned that he had heated the milk for the coffee. And clearly she had forgotten that. That she had burned herself and at that moment the alarm had gone off. We clearly averted disaster.


antics *a little* too loud

A summer evening, oppressive heat in Paris. Of course everyone tries to fall asleep with the windows wide open. And there, in the peaceful calm of my building’s courtyard, we begin to hear sexual jokes. He screams very loudly, the sounds of bodies colliding and slapping can also be heard. At first I enjoy it and tell myself that they are having fun, good for them! Then it starts again, again and again, the screams are increasingly louder, we can’t sleep. I wonder if we’re going to shoot the next Dorcel in my building. Since I’m a gossip, I look out the window to see where it’s coming from. I’m bursting out laughing, but that doesn’t stop them, they feel alone in the world. I finally closed the window and slept sweaty. I never knew who it was, but I waited in the hallway for a long time to see who lived on that floor.


Revenge of the intercom

A few years ago, my boyfriend and I lived in a small attic apartment, in a very opulent building on the 16th floor.And neighborhood of Paris. I might as well tell you that on our sixth floor (accessed by a service staircase different from the other floors), we clearly had the sensation of being sub-inhabitants of the building.

Further down lived a very rich family, whose apartment occupied the entire floor. And its members were really loud. With their parents often absent, the boys got into the habit of organizing large parties, with dozens of guests. It was truly unbearable. I remember a party the girl threw mid-week, in June or July, that was amazing. The volume of the sound system rivaled that of a nightclub, people were screaming at the windows, dead drunk in the courtyard and on OUR stairs… We finally went to ring the doorbell around 2, then 3, for their he was told to silence him, with the threat of calling the police (who actually never come out to bother).

They never stopped. The next day, when we had to go to work, we met the caretaker of the building, who was also dying. She told us the way to get revenge on her: ringing the intercom for a long time, from 6 in the morning, to prevent the girl and her friends from sleeping after their hellish evening. Then start again as soon as the intercom comes on, at least twenty times a day. We loved her method so much that we used it after every party that turned into a bacchanal. She didn’t help us sleep better, but she made us very happy.


The confinement of hell

During the birth I lived with my boyfriend on the first floor of a very small and rather old two-storey building, with a shared courtyard. My downstairs neighbors were young parents aged 38-40. They had two children: an eight-year-old and a two-year-old.

One evening these neighbors offered us an aperitif. We accepted and had a very nice evening. But from then on things got worse and worse. The downstairs neighbor began to make a habit of knocking on our house and walking through the door uninvited to ask him to help with various things.

Furthermore, they began to take over the common courtyard by having an aperitif EVERY evening, as if it belonged only to them. They started drinking earlier and earlier, sometimes until 5 in the morning, they didn’t take care of their children and they spent their time talking absurd anti-vax nonsense under our windows. In the evening they were so drunk that they could no longer take care of their children, and they made love with the windows open…

After arguing with them I don’t know how many times, we capitulated: we moved.


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