Good Fences

Living in a modern apartment complex in a big city usually means knowing little to nothing of the people around you. I have neighbors on both sides of me and all I know of them is tiny little stuff based on hearing their interactions in the hall as they and their guests enter and leave the apartments. And, of course, on the rare sound heard through the walls.

The sound heard through the walls is rare because the walls between apartments in my building are thick. Like slow-witted-cashier thick. Often you can clearly hear somebody's TV turned way up from the hallway but find only blissful silence once ensconced in your own living space.

So what have I learned about my neighbors? Odd things. I'll take the one I think is less interesting first.

The apartment to the East of mine is a large one-bedroom situated on the corner. I know this because I took a surreptitious look around when they left the door open when repairing it between tenants a couple of years ago. The fellow who lives there is a tall guy. He has a large dog (black lab, I think, though I'm terrible with dog-breeds). He has a standing order for two cases of the sports-sized Poland Springs bottled water, which appear outside his door in the early morning once a month.

He went to Ohio State and I think he has a job that allows him to work from home much of the time.

The Ohio State factoid I learned shortly after Georgetown beat UNC Vanderbilt (thanks for the reminder Bill) in the NCAA tournament the year before last. I had watched the game at home with a few friends and when Green sunk the game winning shot as the final seconds ticked off the clock there was an understandably boisterous celebration. Boisterous enough, I suppose, to actually penetrate the sound-suppressing walls that my apartment is blessed with. We later went on to beat UNC which meant we would next face Ohio State in the Final Four. The evening after that win I returned from work to find a note from my neighbor taped to my door congratulating me on Georgetown's win and wishing us luck against Ohio State signed "An Ohio State Alum" with his apt. number given.

The working from home I am hypothesizing based on the fact that he orders food in every night at roughly 6:30. As I get home in the 6-ish range this would imply that he either gets home just before me and immediately orders dinner or that he is just home all day. My rare experience with being home sick or otherwise during the week seems to confirm the home-all-day theory.

So that's my Eastward neighbor.

My Westward neighbor is, I am fairly certain, a prostitute. I'm not sure if she is the same woman who has lived there for the past two to three years or if she is of newer import. (I haven't actually seen her since I began to suspect her working-girl status.) However, she routinely receives many, many visitors in the evening. This alone is perhaps suspicious but not proof of working-girl status. Nor are the many candles she lights which I can see reflected in the windows of the building across the alleyway.

Last Tuesday evening, however, I ran into one of her visitors on the elevator. He was a 40-something guy, who I had never seen before, heading for my floor. Nothing suspicious in that, I haven't seen lots of folk who live on my floor. He was polite, holding the door for me as I was carrying armfuls of stuff. Getting off the elevator, he again held the door for me and followed me out.

He headed with me towards my door. There are three other doors in that direction: my Ohio State friend, the supposed-prostitute and a currently empty apartment. Getting close to my door, he was looking at the numbers and asked me if the prostitute's door was F. I acknowledged it was and bid him "have a good night" as I was just finishing opening my door and stepping inside. His reply "I'm working on it" drew my notice to the fact that he was carrying a bottle of wine in the bag from the wine store around the corner. Given that he was a 40-ish guy and she is (based on late-night comings and goings and the timber of her female friends voices) a 20-something, it seemed odd that they would be meeting up for a date. It seemed even odder when that date ended somewhat less than an hour later and he went on his merry way.

And that, dear friend, is why I am firmly convinced that my next-door neighbor is a prostitute.