HotPinkGeek

November 14th, 2011 (approximately 12:15am)

I (Bambi) had been suffering from viral pneumonia for two weeks and was coughing irregularly. I took some medication that would stop the coughing but it made me feel light headed so I walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air. While standing there quietly, I heard what I thought was someone else talking on their phone so I didn’t pay much attention. But an expletive drew me back to it and what I heard was “shut the fuck up you fat fucking bitch before I come up there and kick your ass.” The voice was clear and close by so my impression was that it was coming from directly below us. I didn’t speak and stood as quietly as possible to see if the man speaking would say anything further. He then said “I hear you up there. Don’t make me come up there.” at which point I was so scared that I came back in to coax Simon Sage out onto the balcony. At this point the man did not say anything further.

January 16th (approximately 11:35am)

Simon and I had been sitting at our respective computers, working quietly for a few hours at this point in the day as is the case almost every day. There was a knock at the door which Simon answered. A short, middle-aged man with olive skin tone and sandy brown hair, wearing jeans and a light grey tshirt was standing there looking agitated. He began with “Yo! Buddy! Can you quit banging on the floor?” to which Simon, who was confused by this, replied “Sorry?”. The man went on to explain that he had heard us repeatedly ‘hammering’ on the floor and moving furniture around all day long. Simon explained to him that it was definitely not us as we had today, as most days, been sitting in our seats across the room from each other working on our computers. He refused to believe this and suggested that we were probably walking heavily or ‘running around’ and that he wanted us to ‘cut that shit out’ at which point I (still seated at my computer four feet away) felt that he might become physically violent and so I turned towards the door and said “It really isn’t us — like he (Simon) said, we sit here quietly all day long. We’re a bunch of computer nerds (I laughed to lighten the mood) we’re not partiers. I don’t think we’ve even said a word to each other all day up to this point. I’m not sure, but I think the people next door (1710) might be doing some minor renovations. I hear a drill sometimes when I’m in the bathroom which I think might be connected to their kitchen. And the unit on the other side (1708) is empty, I think. Maybe someone is fixing it up? We don’t hear anything much though, so I don’t know…” He laughed and said, sarcastically, “Oh? So it might be your neighbours, huh? Not you? Of course not you.” Simon spoke up and said “Have you tried speaking with them? Maybe…” the man interrupted Simon to say “Cut the shit, buddy.” and something along the lines of ‘just quit the banging’ then said At which point Simon said “I’m sorry. I wish we could help.” to which he replied “Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to talk to your neighbours. Right.” Simon shut and locked the door.

We are unaware if he did, in fact, speak to the neighbours

January 21st (approximately 11pm)

Simon, our friend Loralei Valade, and myself were in the living room. Simon was at his computer with his headphones on playing a video game. Loralei Valade and I were watching tv at a low volume and discussing knitting and crochet projects. Loralei was curled up on the couch with her current crochet project and I was in my recliner in my pajamas playing solitaire on my laptop. There was a knock at the door. I was very nervous to open the door as I was worried that it would be the aggressive man from downstairs. I looked out the peephole and no one was there so I opened the door carefully and saw that the man from downstairs in jeans and a dark blue zip up sweater/jacked had pushed himself up against the wall in the hallway to the left of the door, presumably so that I wouldn’t see him. “The bullshit ends here” he said gruffly. I immediately noticed that he smelled very strongly of sweet alcohol and that his eyes were very red. The conversation proceeded, to the best of my recollection, like this:

Bambi: Excuse me?
Man: Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing and you need to cut that shit out.
Simon (approaches the door): What’s the problem?
Man: Quit fucking banging on the floor!
Simon: Listen, man, it’s not us.
Bambi: It’s really not us. We’re sitting here very quietly watching tv in our pajamas. It’s not us. I don’t know what you’re hearing.
Man: (looks me up and down, smiling) Oh I see. Very nice. Very nice. (Looks around us at the apartment and presumably spots left over bowls of chips, plastic Hawaiian flower leis, and bottles of soda on the counter) Did you have a party here last night?
Bambi: Yes but it was very quiet — we sat around in chairs talking about dungeons and dragons, drinking punch and talking. If it was our music, maybe, or our voices, or the tv you were complaining about… maybe I’d understand. But we definitely were not banging. There was no dance party here.
Man: Dungeons and dragons huh? Ha! That’s great. We should party some time. You should come down and we’ll really party. I knew you had a party. I’ve been watching. You had people hanging out the windows.
Bambi: A few of my friends may have gone out to the balcony for some fresh air, but I assure you they were quiet. I made sure of it as it was getting late. We’re not teenagers, it really wasn’t a ‘wild’ party…
Man: I recognize your voice, you know. You don’t know what I do for a living, do you?
Bambi: No… but I’m not sure that’s relevant.
Man: Maybe I have ghosts then, huh? (he laughs)
Bambi: Really boring ghosts if they’re only moving your furniture around.
Man: You don’t have a car, do you? (he said knowingly)
Simon: No, we don’t.
Man: It’s you that’s doing it, I know that, bud. I know. Oh, I know. You take the bus, huh? Interesting. I knew that. What do you do for a living?
Simon: I write. On the computer.
Bambi: We’re journalists. We work from home.
Man: Oh really? The company I work for owns (a lot of the) newspapers. Interesting. Which paper?
Bambi: Online. Internationally.
Man: Oh really. Well, I’ll tell you what buddy (he points at Simon) this is the last time I’m coming up here. I’m telling you that.
(At this point two men in overalls with a bit of drywall or white paint on them walk by with cleaning or building supplies towards the elevators. I speak a bit louder to be sure that they hear that the man at the door is harassing us.)
Bambi: Or what? The last time you’re coming up here… then what? Are you threatening us? If so, get it over with so that we’re clear here.
Man: Oh no… (steps back, smiles) I have an idea, though. (taps his lips and grins) Did you guys get a notice, by chance?
Simon: (picks up building notice from the shelf by the front door) …this one?
Bambi: You mean the one about not flushing last night’s dinner down the toilet because the system is getting backed up…? Yes. We got that one…?
Man: Yeah that one. Think about that, huh? You know? I know what you’re doing.
Bambi: What’s that supposed to mean?
Man: You guys rent here, eh? Or do you own?
Simon: We own, actually.
Man: Oh really? Listen, cut this shit out. Last time.
Bambi: Or what? Next time you hear the noise, feel free to contact the police. We can all sit down and have a chat with them…
Simon: Why don’t you contact the administration?
Man: Oh, this is beyond administration, bud. Last time I’m coming up here.
Bambi: Or what? Seriously?
He then went on to insist I shake his hand three times and invited us down to ‘party’ at his place ‘any time’ and then said “This shit stops.” with a very stern face “Let’s hope we have a quiet night, huh?” to which I replied “Fingers crossed.” and I shut the door and locked it.

Here is the surveillance camera he has on his balcony:

And here’s the video recording of what we think he’s probably hearing (what we’re told is construction on the 12th floor, perhaps):