(no subject)
I woke up this morning to "Whole Lotta Love" playing somewhere so loudly that I could hear every riff as if it were in my bedroom. This happens most Saturday mornings. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Zeppelin. And I love Radiohead, which they played the last time, and Sinatra, which they played the time before. Somebody is my taste in music twin. But they happen to be sharing it at the wrong time.
Now normally when this happens I get up and look down the hall, because it sounds like it's coming from the other side of my kitchen wall. But I can't hear it anymore when I step out into the hall, so I figure it's coming from upstairs and give up. This time, though, I put my ear to the floor and sure enough, it's coming right from the kitchen of the deli--which, as it happens, is directly below me. So, having put up with this for one week shy of a year and reached my limit (but not wanting to bang on the door of a closed business in my pajamas and bedhead), I grabbed the phone book and made a call to Hippie Central of downtown DSM. It went like this.
ring...ring...
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep! (accidental speed dial press)
burnout deli man who regularly wears pajama pants to work: whoa. (pause) um. (pause) Good morning, Beggar's Banquet.
me: Hi. Are you the ones playing Led Zeppelin really loud?
bdm: (shouting) What?
me: Are you playing Led Zeppelin right now?
bdm: oh. yeah.
me: Do you think you could turn it down? I live upstairs and I can feel it through the floor.
bdm: (laughing, and sounding kinda cute actually) Oh, I'm sorry.
me: It's okay.
bdm: Thanks. Bye.
And by then, of course, it was too late to go back to bed. Kill all the hippies.
Now normally when this happens I get up and look down the hall, because it sounds like it's coming from the other side of my kitchen wall. But I can't hear it anymore when I step out into the hall, so I figure it's coming from upstairs and give up. This time, though, I put my ear to the floor and sure enough, it's coming right from the kitchen of the deli--which, as it happens, is directly below me. So, having put up with this for one week shy of a year and reached my limit (but not wanting to bang on the door of a closed business in my pajamas and bedhead), I grabbed the phone book and made a call to Hippie Central of downtown DSM. It went like this.
ring...ring...
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep! (accidental speed dial press)
burnout deli man who regularly wears pajama pants to work: whoa. (pause) um. (pause) Good morning, Beggar's Banquet.
me: Hi. Are you the ones playing Led Zeppelin really loud?
bdm: (shouting) What?
me: Are you playing Led Zeppelin right now?
bdm: oh. yeah.
me: Do you think you could turn it down? I live upstairs and I can feel it through the floor.
bdm: (laughing, and sounding kinda cute actually) Oh, I'm sorry.
me: It's okay.
bdm: Thanks. Bye.
And by then, of course, it was too late to go back to bed. Kill all the hippies.