My wife and I live in Staten Island, by the minor league baseball stadium called the Richmond County Ballpark. About two years ago the stadium management decided, "Let's have fireworks every night!"
We live on a hill, five stories up, so when these fireworks go off, it is
eye-level with our apartment window.
The first time it happened, we thought we were being shot at and we dove off our beds on the floor.
If you don't believe me, watch the video I posted to youtube (above, or here). Every night of a home game there is a weird silence after the game, long enough for my wife and I to think, "Oh crap. It’s coming," and then the fireworks start. I even know the type: It's a firework called 'The Atomic Bomb'. It's an M-80.
Other noise shoots
straight up from the field too. My friend sang the national anthem one day, and
I heard her name announced during dinner.
In addition, around game time, the whole neighborhood becomes a parking lot.
During the week in the warmer months, we pretty much just leave the windows open (closing them and putting the a/c on doesn't help) and suck it up,
which makes for tension between me and my wife, but on Friday night, we combat the
noise by playing a video game called Rockband as loud as we can stand it. The neighbors then combat that by being loud as well.
We have begun thinking about moving. The noise is so bad that even when it is quiet and there is a tiny bit of noise, we are ready to start getting upset over it.
It is almost like we forgot what silence means because silence is just a calm before a storm for us. I want to move because I love my wife, and I don't like hearing her yell about the noise.
To add to the discomfort
caused by the stadium sounds, we are plagued by another type of noise. Our upstairs neighbor
is a 6' 5" French photographer. He spends half the year in Paris, and half
the year living above us. We feel like we live beneath a French Godzilla and
because he is a good-looking photographer, for the 6-months he lives above us,
we have to hear his love interest of the night, who usually is wearing heels
and feels the need to scream a lot.
I complained once to him, and maybe he thought I did not understand French, but when someone called as I spoke to him, he said on the phone in French, "I am talking to my neighbor. The one who complains."
He is annoying, but the fireworks are far worse.
Living Next to....explores the good, the bad, and the memorable of living near someplace others would rather not. Have a story to share? Let us know--we'd love to hear!
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