Dealing with my complex apartment

Someone once told me how the owner of the San Francisco Giants was duped into building a stadium on Candlestick Point. Developers waited for an unusually sunny day to give the guy a tour of the site.

Being from New York, he couldn't believe the bargain he was getting for such beautiful real estate.

Candlestick Park turned out to be a cold windy hellhole unfit for human inhabitants. Generations of Giants fans grew to curse their owner's gullibility as they shivered through July ballgames.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I feel like I'm renting the Candlestick Park of apartments. I couldn't believe all the room I was getting for so little rent. I toured it during the day and found it to be quiet, peaceful, ideally located.

What I didn't take into account was that it was also empty.

The first night in the place gave me my surprise.

After the move I was ready to close my eyes. It had been a long day. But as my head hit the pillow I could hear a steady, rhythmic sound. With one part annoyance and one part paranoia I looked under the bed. Turns out it was the woman in the apartment below snoring.

No joke.

The walls are so thin you can hear a pin drop.

That night I tossed and turned. My sleep was punctuated by loud music, conversations echoing from all over and doors slammed with more than an ordinary dose of vigor.

It hasn't stopped.

Now, five months into my lease, I've decided each of my neighbors is playing a supporting role in driving me insane.

For starters there's the woman living above me. I've never actually met her, but I have reason to believe she weighs 400 pounds or more. It's a logical conclusion because every step of hers makes an alarming depression in my ceiling.

When I lay in bed I can trace her path to the bathroom either by listening to the creak of the floor boards or by watching my ceiling tiles desperately flex.

I'm just waiting for the day she comes cascading down from above and crushes me like an ant.

My neighbor below isn't much better. He's a partier. And at 2 a.m. he's likely to have a group of friends over. They'll have music playing and I can usually hear them opening beers and clinking glasses.

Because voices seem to travel so well in the building it's not hard to distinguish several male voices and a couple of female voices. Before long they're laughing and carrying on.

But then the noises stop. "Great, they're partied out and headed home," I think to myself. Only I haven't heard anybody leave the apartment. And then I start hearing other noises. Noises you don't expect to hear from a cocktail party. Really happy noises.

I guess I should just be thankful the woman living above isn't engaged in the same group activities. That could be really hazardous.

Next door lives a woman who's quiet compared to the other two. That is except for the TV she keeps on day and night. From what I can hear she keeps it tuned to a cable station that only plays the TV show "Cops." She must watch 30 episodes per day.

I figure she's either looking for someone or making sure no one's looking for her. Either way I give her a good distance.

So when you see me on the street don't judge me by my bloodshot eyes. Just know I haven't slept well the night before.

TJ Greaney is a reporter for the Southeast Missourian.