There is a man.
A man who's face I couldn't pick out from a crowd unless it was a crowd of him and a bunch of women, or maybe children.
A man who actually maybe I couldn't even pick out of a crowd of him and women, cause for all I know he could be a woman.
A man who's age I do not know, who's race I do not know, who's religion I do not know, who's job I do not know.
A man who may live in my building or may live in building A.
A man I know nothing about.
And despite all that, I hate this man. I want to slap, shake, punch and strangle this man (though I won't, because I am a Quaker). I want to scream at this man, give him some cough syrup and seal all his windows closed.
Why do I have such strong feelings about this man that I do not know?
Because he is the grunter from hell.
You see, when I get into bed at night, I open my window. I open my window because I am a weirdo insomniac who needs a freezing cold bedroom in order to sleep. And when I open my window I hear his grunt.
It's not even really a grunt, because that makes it sound possibly like something sexual and I am 99.9% sure it's not sexual. The sound he makes is almost like the sound a really crappy old motorcycle makes when it won't start, but it doesn't last as long.
I mean, clearly he's clearing his throat, but it's so loud and so awful.
And it happens ALL NIGHT LONG.
But the thing is, it doesn't happen every night.
It doesn't happen at regular intervals.
It's not even always the same volume so there's no possible way to get used to it.
I just want to know why.
Why, Mr. Grunter, have you not had that throat thing looked into?
Why, Mr. Grunter, do you not drink a bottle of cough syrup every night?
Why, Mr. Grunter, do you do you hate me and wish to ruin my life?
Why? WHY!
So, if you are out there Mr. Grunter living in either building A or B of the Oakwood apartments in LA on Barham, please, for my sake, and everyone else who has an open window near you, stop.
You make me want to cry myself to sleep at night.
But I don't.
Because that might annoy my neighbors.
A man who's face I couldn't pick out from a crowd unless it was a crowd of him and a bunch of women, or maybe children.
A man who actually maybe I couldn't even pick out of a crowd of him and women, cause for all I know he could be a woman.
A man who's age I do not know, who's race I do not know, who's religion I do not know, who's job I do not know.
A man who may live in my building or may live in building A.
A man I know nothing about.
And despite all that, I hate this man. I want to slap, shake, punch and strangle this man (though I won't, because I am a Quaker). I want to scream at this man, give him some cough syrup and seal all his windows closed.
Why do I have such strong feelings about this man that I do not know?
Because he is the grunter from hell.
You see, when I get into bed at night, I open my window. I open my window because I am a weirdo insomniac who needs a freezing cold bedroom in order to sleep. And when I open my window I hear his grunt.
It's not even really a grunt, because that makes it sound possibly like something sexual and I am 99.9% sure it's not sexual. The sound he makes is almost like the sound a really crappy old motorcycle makes when it won't start, but it doesn't last as long.
I mean, clearly he's clearing his throat, but it's so loud and so awful.
And it happens ALL NIGHT LONG.
But the thing is, it doesn't happen every night.
It doesn't happen at regular intervals.
It's not even always the same volume so there's no possible way to get used to it.
I just want to know why.
Why, Mr. Grunter, have you not had that throat thing looked into?
Why, Mr. Grunter, do you not drink a bottle of cough syrup every night?
Why, Mr. Grunter, do you do you hate me and wish to ruin my life?
Why? WHY!
So, if you are out there Mr. Grunter living in either building A or B of the Oakwood apartments in LA on Barham, please, for my sake, and everyone else who has an open window near you, stop.
You make me want to cry myself to sleep at night.
But I don't.
Because that might annoy my neighbors.
No comments:
Post a Comment