The Elephants on Parade

A chunk of my ceiling has fallen.

No, I’m not kidding. We have one of those stucco ceilings that all apartment complexes have, because they’re cheap.  A small chunk of the stucco just floated down to the floor as I sat there watching the television. Why did my ceiling fall? Funny you should ask that. The apartment above us has recently been inhabited by large thundering elephants.

We used to live under Two Ton Tina. She was a very large black woman that would rattle the pictures on my wall when she walked up the stairs. She was a very, very nice woman, which is why I never complained about her. Although she didn’t move around much, she was pretty loud when she did. She was nothing, however, compared to the new upstairs residents. They’re unbelievable. The only time that place is quiet is when they’re not home. I can tell exactly where in the apartment they are just by the noise their steps make. I’ve seen a couple people that may or may not live there (it seems they’re fond of gatherings), and no one looks heavy enough to cause the amount of rumbling that they cause. It’s almost like they’re afraid the carpet is going to suddenly spring up and whack them in the face, and they’re stamping it down as a preventative measure.

So how do I handle it? Do I march up there (potentially destroying more of my own ceiling) and demand they return the elephants to the circus, and resume walking like normal humans? Do I bake them some laxative-laced brownies and hope they spend the rest of their existence on the toilet, rather than tromping around the apartment? I think I’ll try calling the front office about it. Not to tattle on them, but to ask if maybe a letter can be sent to the entire complex reminding people of general courtesies. Yanno, things like not driving through the parking lot at 4am with your radio blaring, and picking up after your mangy little mutt when she poops right in the center of the steps to my apartment.