The New Godzooky

My next door neighbor, whom I've dubbed The Princess, is now on his third female roommate. Lest you think he's some kind of serial monogamist, I should tell you that he's gay and has never had a male roommate in the half dozen or so years that he's lived next door to me. I know he's not interested in these women romantically; he has one bedroom, and they are always assigned to the other.

Each of  the women who've shared the apartment has had her own distinctive personality. The first one has been discussed on this blog in the past. She was the noisiest roommate so far. In fact, she is the noisiest person who's ever lived next door to me. When she wasn't playing her music or television at the highest possible volume (or perhaps just singing off key), she was stomping around on the wooden floors. I once compared it to the noise Godzilla makes destroying Tokyo. Thus was her nickname born.

The second roommate was quieter, much quieter, but she had a propensity for shopping that bordered on the addictive or obsessive. Not many days would pass before a box would appear in front of the apartment door. Some weeks there were packages every single day.

Some days even saw multiple packages. I didn't snap a picture of the pile of three large boxes that appeared one day while she was still living next door, but I still don't see how she could have gotten in the door.

This most recent addition had been, until recently, the quietest. She won't speak to me, has never said hello to me in the hallway or even acknowledged my presence. I suspect The Princess has told her that I've called to complain about the noise level several times in the past and so she's decided that I'm a bad neighbor. I don't care, really, since I have nothing in common with the twentysomething crowd that tends to show up next door.

I thought everything had been going well until this winter break. Each year, The Princess and anyone else who lives next door tend to disappear for two weeks for Christmas and New Year's celebrations elsewhere. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year because there are no slamming doors or awful music or loud, chatty late-night guests. By the way, I think that young people talk so loudly these days because they've damaged their hearing from years of sticking in ear buds and holding phones close to their ears. In another decade, it will be older people like me who have good hearing and the younger people will all need hearing aids.

Since the return of the neighbors after the holidays, there has been a marked increase in the volume level next door. I did call the security patrol one night because it was almost midnight but I could still hear very clearly through the walls the conversations going on. And, to make matters worse, the newest roommate has started stomping around the apartment too. I don't know how one's feet could get so much heavier over a couple of weeks of vacation, but I always know when she's home and when she's walking from the living room to her bedroom and vice versa.

I'll admit it's not as bad as when Godzilla herself lived next door, but it is still annoying. There's no point in talking about it with them; they don't seem particularly aware that other people live in the building too. I'm sure that I'll adjust, although it will most likely be the volume that's adjusted so that I can continue to hear my own television, but I think she's earned a nickname for herself.

Godzooky was the nephew of Godzilla in an 80s cartoon. He was a bit of a fumbler, not quite as powerful or coordinated as his uncle, and somewhat prone to mishaps. Given that she stomps around the apartment but isn't quite as loud (yet?) as her predecessor, I'm dubbing the young woman next door Godzooky.



By the way, I never know why the roommates move out. I don't know if they get another job and have to move or if The Princess is just a terrible person with whom to share an apartment. One day, Godzilla just moved out, and The Shopaholic moved in. After about a year or so, The Shopaholic moved out too, and Godzooky moved in.