I walk into my apartment. Take off my coat, throw my purse on my bed, and start getting ready for bed. The radio is on a low setting (low enough that I didn't hear it when I unlocked my door or walked in) and I turn the tap on in my bathroom.
I wet my toothbrush, put a dab of toothpaste on and start brushing. The sound of the running water and the toothbrush going back and forth over my teeth tune out the radio, so that I can only hear it playing Foo Fighters faintly.
As soon as I spit all the toothpastey goodness out of my mouth, I hear a loud bang. A really loud bang. I thought for a second maybe a gas stove in the building exploded or someone was shoot outside of my window. I wander into my living room, looking around, thinking maybe my cat knocked something huge over. I survey the room for a second when the sound happens again.
I quickly realize that someone is kicking my door insanely hard. Hard enough that I see the door shake from it's door jam, about half an inch with each loud powerful kick.
A crack in my solid wood door.
A crack in my solid wood door.I run to the door as I yell out "what the hell are you doing? What the hell are you doing?!". And it stops. Then I hear the sound of crunching plastic bag and of tin cans and garbage being scattered right outside my door onto the ground.
I hear him muttering. I hear "fat bitch" over and over. Then I hear "drug addict". That one confuses me more then anything. Fat Bitch, whatever. I'm a big girl, and have been called worse. But drug addict? Me? The girl who doesn't even touch alcohol. Then just silence.
The trash thrown in front of my apartment door.
The trash thrown in front of my apartment door.I creep over to my night stand turn off the radio and grab my cell phone. I tip toe into my bathroom and call my sister. She answers, and I can tell she already knows something is up. I whisper "My neighbor is kicking in my door. I need you guys to come over and escort me over there". My voice is shaking. My hands are shaking. My sister says they'll be over in a minute, one minute.
I go back to my door, and stand there. I stand there quietly. I just listen. I can hear my heart beating, and feel it in my chest, my finger tips, and my brain is just throbbing with the noise. But I can also hear someone's feet shuffling outside my door.
Suddenly there's a tap on the window. It's Ian and Chantelle. They can't come in without my keys, and I can hear him out there. I talk through the door. I say "I'm leaving and I want you in your apartment, so that I can't even see you, with your door shut. I'm calling the police and the landlord immediately." But I don't hear his door close. I hear nothing.
Chantelle knocks on my window again. I open the curtain and mouth to her that he's still out there. Ian tells me to hand my keys through the window. I do so. They open the front door and head down the stairs.
He's in his suite. My sister says she heard his feet shuffle and door close. They knock on my door and I let them in. Ian stays out in the hallway and stands guard. Chantelle comes in and calms me down. We try calling my landlord repeatedly, but to no avail. No answer. We decide to leave. Go over to their place and call the police from there.
As we're leaving, Ian says "We're calling the police on apt 103". I lock my door behind me and suddenly his opens.
He asks "What's going on out here?".
I say "You know exactly what's going on out here. Why did you throw this garbage out here and bang on my door?".
"I didn't do that. That wasn't me. You're a crazy bitch."
"I know it was you, and we're calling the police as soon as we leave."
"Is that a threat?".
"No, it's actually going to happen. We're doing it immediately. Be prepared for it."
We're up the stairs and leaving the building. We head to the landlords suite and knock. And knock. And knock. And just for good measure, knock some more. No answer.
We head over to Chantelle and Ian's apartment. Once there, I call the police and put in a complaint and request someone comes over.
I tell the guy on the phone all the details above. He says it's busy tonight and may be hours until anyone can come over. But that's fine by me. I don't want to hesitate. I want action.
By this time it's 2:30 am when I hang up with the police. He doesn't know when anyone will be by.
We stay up till 4 am. I fall asleep. Chantelle and Ian stay up even later.
My phone rings at 7:30 am. Two cops are here. They come up to take my statement. It's so great having some officials listen. I write a witness statement and they go over to my apartment building. I arrange for a co worker to take my shift and am so grateful when she is able too.
I go back home and fall asleep until 9:30 when the same cop calls me from the station to tell me how the conversation with my neighbor went. The neighbor denied everything (of course). The garbage was still in the hallway. The neighbor called me a drug addict, an alcoholic, a party animal and that I do weed all the time. The police warned him that if anything like this happens again, they will have to press charges for harassment.
Since any one who reads this blog knows me, I'm sure you can all see what is wrong with that last sentence. The main thing being that none of that is true. I come home late at night. That's the worst thing I do that could match that description. Never had a cigarette. Never had a drink. No weed, to say the least. Never even had more then three people in my apartment at one time. And we played a board game and watched a movie.
I've talked to my landlord and given all the information possible. Including pictures of the trash and some door damage from the kicking (a solid wood door, not even plywood, thank god). A copy of my police statement and a letter in the trash he threw infront of my door that has his apartment number and name on it, proving it was him. Until he's evicted, I'm staying at my sisters. I can't even stand the idea of sleeping there alone. The feeling of violation and unpredictable danger is too close.
The note we found in the trash, clearly stating the tenants name and apartment number. It's addressed to our landlord.
The note we found in the trash, clearly stating the tenants name and apartment number. It's addressed to our landlord.This afternoon, when we went by to pick up my clothes, we ran into him in the hallway. He went to his apartment, but not before saying three times "Don't bother people and they won't bother you". Ian stood outside the door while he said this, while my sister and I got packed up. After that, I cleaned up the garbage, making sure to get a photo before I touched anything.
Here is a photo of how damaged my door knob is from the kicking.
