Burnt Coffee and Bridges

I moved into a new place in the middle of May. There is only one parking spot per unit, and the sublet didn't include one for yours truly. No biggie. The landlord said there was a spot I could use if I didn't block anyone in. Perfect alternative since the building is just north of campus, but still swamped with students. She said everyone who lived there was as quiet and quaint as the building, and that the tenant directly below had been there the longest. It had not even been a week when I received a letter on my car from said tenant below. It read: "Hey, I want to be a chill neighbor, but I was hungover this morning and almost hit your car trying to back up. Could you not park there. -Cullen"

This is how I was parked when I received the letter.

I wrote back explaining that there are only three available parking spots out front, if everyone parks correctly; the rest are either 2hr limits, residential permit, or blocks away. Furthermore, I said I had permission, and parked as uncomfortably close to the bush on the hill you can't see, and had factored in everything he would need to back out except for his driving abilities under the influence, or its lingering remnants. Students were finally going home though, and I said I'd make every conscious effort to park out front, but would park in the back if I had to. Last, I encouraged him to speak to me personally if there were any other issues.

A month later, after only needing the back spot once I received a notice of a formal complaint from the landlord about the parking. He must've been waiting. She clarified that the spot was now only to be used for small allotments of time i.e. unloading groceries or friends stopping by. Fair enough, but my only apology to her was that she was involved at all because my neighbor wasn't mature enough to speak man to man.

Two years removed from college, I feel old for being near campus. He is living in a one bedroom and has gray in his facial hair, and started watching movies with the volume up pretty high at night, which makes me think he is an only child that never grew out of territorial tantrums. I am awoken around 7:30am every morning to the smell of burnt coffee. I can live with that annoyance. Who am I to judge how a man takes his coffee? However, recently the passive aggressive bastard has been coming home hammered at 2:07am, slamming his doors, and blaring this terrible base heavy Dracula rap for hours.

I let it slide the first time thinking that he may have just passed out accidentally with the music on, but it happened again last night. This time the music finally stopped at 4:41am. I had to be at work at 6am. Well, you should have seen the look on his face when he answered the door, after I began pounding at approximately 5:47am; to which I proceeded to explain how I was the storm uprooting his false sense of entitlement, and shed light on his contradicting character. He then got a lesson in how adults communicate, considerately share close living spaces, and was given a chance for a rebuttal that he didn't have the courage to take. To this bizarre bean, who WILDLY mistook me for some sort of punk bitch: you know who you are...