Bazaar, Nazis & Lemons

This morning, I was awakened at 0235 by my neighbors yelling and blasting their music. I am not sure why this corner of the building stirs so frequently in the 0200-0400 hours, but I don't like it. In fact, I feel a tad bit shanghaied. Despite sleep deprivation, though, I must say that I look like I just stepped out of Harper's Bazaar—too bad this campus hates fashion. Go to class in my pajamas, you say? No, thanks—I'd be naked. I digress.

Last week, maintenance was changing my smoke detector batteries, and the first thing they asked was, "how is it going with all of your neighbor's beer pong parties—that guy trashes every room he stays in—you should see the carpets! I hope someone warned you about this room, he is the reason no one wanted to live in this room."

No, no one warned me. Gee, thanks RMC housing, you keep me on my toes. Last year after you illegally searched my purse and bags, I began to view those people as a smaller Nazi Germany, but now, I've realized that it is more of a used car salesman mentality. "Here, have this lemon of a room. Oddly, it's been vacant all year."

I should get a discount. I mean, imagine if this apartment was property sold to me by a party that had full knowledge of the eye-sore (ear-sore) neighbors? I think that would be unethical, if not illegal. But then again, "morally obligatory" seems to mean less and less these days.

And I'm not making an extreme proposal of re-pricing rooms within an apartment complex, according to location, and view of the Rockies (I have a great view, by the way). I am, however, proposing that said obnoxious neighbor should've no longer been allowed to reside here. After all, maintenance said, "apartments," meaning he's previously lived here and in different rooms.

Whew.