My goddamn neighbor who smokes up constantly
I live in Berkeley, California, and like most Berkeley residents, I don't have anything morally against a little weed. Not my cup of tea, but if you like it, I'm not one to judge.
Most of the time.
But I do have one teensy-weensy problem with weed: it smells like ass. I should know.
When I moved into my apartment, a practically ideal studio with a generously-sized kitchen and a spiffy claw-footed bathtub, I had little thought for what annoyances the neighbors might bring. Sure, given the neighborhood, I anticipated a few obnoxiously loud undergrads across the street, and the odd street noise. And when it turned out that the teenager downstairs played trumpet, um, not quite as well as Wynton Marsalis, I was forgiving. He only plays on Tuesday nights, anyway.
But while I expected noise, I did not expect smells. But as I soon learned, I have a neighbor, to whom I will henceforth refer as Goddamn Neighbor, who smokes up regularly. And by "regularly," I mean daily, usually around 7:15 AM, when it wakes me up and causes me to open the windows, airing out my apartment and cursing loudly.
You see, the fumes seep in through my kitchen, God alone knows how. And there's no way for me to stop it.
Once I yelled through the bathroom vent, "Whatever it is you're smoking, it smells like shit!"
I had two very satisfying weeks of olfactory peace after that, but alas, it was not to last. The stench returned, and no amount of yelling through the bathroom vent thereafter had any effect at all. I fantasized about his arrest by some overzealous cops, but seeing as how this is Berkeley, it was never a serious hope.* A pipe dream, as it were.
For a while I just accepted the routine. I closed the kitchen door to protect my other room and opened the window to air the kitchen out while I bathed in ye olde tub, and was out of the house often enough that I only occasionally coincided with his afternoon sessions, which were erratic. I limited myself to passive-aggressive tactics like making rude comments about the revolting smell of his noxious weed smoke while passing by my Goddamn Neighbor's door, which went unheeded, natürlich.
But my tolerance has reached its limit, goddammit.
Recently, the smoking up has been nearly constant. Early in the morning, middle of the day, late at night. Last night I was woken up by an acrid smell -- it had to be three in the morning. I opened up my windows and shivered, curled up in my blanket.
I'm not taking this anymore. I feel sorry for my landlady, who's going to be caught in the middle of this, but I'm on the fucking warpath now. Marie (name changed to protect the innocent) is going to get a phone call every time the telltale stink arises. Early in the morning, middle of the day, late at night. At three in the morning. Goddamn Neighbor's ass is going down.
And if anyone knows of other ways to surreptitiously eliminate an unwanted neighbor, I'm taking suggestions.
*Fact: in Berkeley, the police do not care about weed. It's more effort than it's worth to actually try to enforce the law given the combination of an enormous student population and a very liberal atmosphere. I have this on good authority from a friend who was once an RA at the International House, who was informed of this during an official presentation by the Berkeley police.