Uptown Bourgeois is an arts, news, and culture blog created by New York-based freelance writer Jefferey Spivey. UB explores universal themes through a black, queer lens. 

Turn Your F-ing Music Down

Hey there…guys next door? It’s me-your neighbor who precedes you in age by about a decade. I don’t know your ages for sure but I’m taking an educated guess based on the blaring, monotonous rave music I heard coming from your apartment at 3:30 this morning.

I remember those days.  Back when I was 22 years old, I was practically scraping change together to pay my bills.  I was partying until 4 a.m. almost every night of the week, and I had little consideration for my neighbors or my roommates when I wanted to have a good time. Little else mattered beyond the thrill of a good night out. So I totally understand your need to hear your favorite song at top volume in the wee hours of the morning.  You either had a lot of weed or a lot of liquor in your system, and you absolutely needed to keep the party going.  The only problem is that I absolutely needed a full night of sleep to keep my day going.

Young neighbors, I’m going to make some more educated guesses about you if that’s okay. I think I can safely assume that you’ve converted your relatively small studio apartment into a 3 bedroom. This is the only way that you and your buddies from high school could convince your parents to foot the bill for the astronomical Financial District rent.  You’re amazed by this building because it’s 100 leaps ahead of any dorm you’d be living in at NYU or the New School or whatever uber-expensive higher education program you’re enrolled in.  The building amenities are top notch-the valet service for your packages, the continental breakfast five days a week, the rooftop lounge and fitness center.  You practically feel like you’ve made it.  And because your parents are covering your biggest expense and presumably encouraging you not to work so that you can focus fully on your studies, you’re spending whatever free time and funds you have on getting fucked up. In a sense, you have made it.

Well, I’m here to share with you that while this beautiful, luxury apartment building is pretty amazing, it is not a dorm.  Next door to you, we are two hard-working, gainfully employed careerists who rise pretty early most days of the week and weekend to continue working towards our dreams.  We enjoy the building amenities because we’ve worked our asses off to pay for them, and part of what’s included in our monthly rent payments is the sound assurance that we’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep without any disturbances.

I’m not the cranky, old neighbor next door type.  I’m at the latter end of the millennial age spectrum, and I was living a very similar life to yours about ten years ago.  So I totally get it.  But just because I’m close to you in age and understand where you’re coming from doesn’t mean I can condone or allow your behavior.  I don’t know you, and I’m not willing to lose my sleep for you. Around 3 p.m. today when I’m ready to pass out because of my interrupted slumber, I’ll be ready to hurl a few expletive-filled complaints your way.

But instead of going that far and getting myself to that tipping point, I’ll simply suggest some advice for you as an alternative.  While the world is your oyster to consume, it is not your endless party.  One day, you will be in your 30s, and you’ll be angry when your 20-something neighbor wakes you up in the middle of the night because they just had to hear that soulless feedback noise they refer to as music.  At this stage of your life, you can continue on this path and possibly run the risk of eviction.  Not sure if you know this, but it’s ridiculously expensive to find a new apartment in NYC, and I’m 99% sure you don’t get your security deposit back when you get kicked out.  You can go this route if the party is really that important to you.  And if you’d like to call my bluff, just ask the guys that lived in your apartment before you. Or if you’re not particularly interested in this brief millennial edition of It’s A Wonderful Life, then kindly provide me with one simple, common neighborly courtesy: turn your fucking music down.

Thanks, and have a great day.  Hopefully I won’t be hearing you any time soon. 

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