Years ago I lived below someone whose dishwasher kept me awake at night. After enduring it for a while, I realized I had to do something. So I wrote the following story, formatted it nicely with an illustration of a guy loading his dishwasher, then slid it under my neighbor’s door. It worked!

THE DISHWASHER THAT WENT THUMP IN THE NIGHT

A True Story

1:00 a.m. - My weary body finally hits the mattress. It has been an intense week and a half, and overwork and sleep deprivation has pushed me to the edge. If I don't get at least 7 hours of sleep tonight I’m afraid I may snap.

The next five and half hours are uneventful.

6:30 a.m. - Something on the edge of my unconsciousness ... a persistent "thump, thump, thump" ... then nothing ... then "thump, thump, thump" again at almost random intervals.

Now I am awake and hear it clearly... THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The fan I keep running in my bedroom to mask urban noise while I sleep is defenseless against this auditory assault. Police sirens, helicopters, kids playing basketball, car stereos blaring - none can penetrate my sleep when that little fan is running. But somehow this mysterious thumping has managed to do so.

Aah... I remember the ear plugs. Good industrial strength ear plugs that have saved what would otherwise have been restless nights in cheap motels with paper thin walls. In go the ear plugs. Shut go the eyes.

thump, thump, thump... then nothing ... then thump thump, thump, thump thump

It is no use. I must find the source of this infernal noise.

I pull on my sweat pants, T-shirt, underwear, and shoes. (Damn, must remember next time to put the underwear on first.) My detective work leads me to the door of apartment 507. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP ... It’s the dishwasher!

What to do? Like me, my neighbor assumes we live in a building where household appliances can be used freely. Alas, that is not the case.

I return to my bed, hoping the thump cycle will end shortly.

7:25 a.m. - It is no use. I can't get back to sleep. I decide to start the day early ... hoping I can make it through one more sleep deprived day. I resolve to ask my neighbor to run their dishwasher during waking hours (preferably in the evening).

8:00 p.m. - My neighbor finds an unusual item under their door - a short story starring their dishwasher. But being a great guy/gal, gets a chuckle out of it and resolves to do a good deed for another human being.

Thanks!

Part of the problem, not part of the solution.

Oftentimes, depending on the market and the need, people don't have a choice as to which available apartment to rent. You take the one that's open and hope for the best. Even if you have the bestest location ever (I lived above a carport for six years in a corner apartment, had no one above me, and no one below me, and just one neighbor to the side) and still experienced times of intolerable noise thanks to the thin walls and one period where ten people crammed themselves into the apartment next door. Yet the letter writer is to blame for not being able to sleep?

He's not a "genius" for renting a downstairs apartment? Why don't you take your kids and go rent a house, genius?

"Even if you have the bestest location ever (I lived above a carport for six years in a corner apartment, had no one above me, and no one below me, and just one neighbor to the side), you might still experience times of intolerable noise -- just as I did thanks to the thin walls and one period where ten people crammed themselves into the apartment next door."

I moved to NYC in 1978. At my first apartment, everything was fine for a few years - and then the building owners decided to take advantage of the improving economy by illegally charging high rents (in a rent-stabilized building) when someone vacated an apt. They had the new renters pay in cash....I found out about that eventually - but meanwhile my life became total hell, when two (illegal) renters moved in above me. Those guys were heavily into S&M and they arrived home each night around midnight (just when I'd be going to sleep). Since they lived there illegally, they didn't have to comply with the law about having carpeting or rugs cover 80% of the floors - so they had *nothing* on the floors and one of them apparently wore storm trooper boots. They also argued a lot - *ferociously* - and the building was poorly-insulated. The situation became untenable and I first complained to the super (a nasty old guy who didn't care one bit). Then I complained to the management company, but they also didn't care - and they obviously wanted me out of there, so they could (illegally) double my rent. I then tried complaining to the apartment occupants, but the Storm Trooper was a very nasty/very scary guy who warned me never to complain again. One night it was so bad (they used to "go at it" in bed until around 4:00 a.m. and I could literally hear their whips & chains, until it sounded like they were about to fall through my ceiling), that I went outside and searched for a cop (calls to the police were hopeless, as crime was high in those days [and certainly I understood the situation]). I finally found a cop and begged him to go upstairs, which he did. The Storm Trooper banged on my door the next night and issued a scary warning to me....the "final straw" occurred one night when they had a violent fight and were literally breaking everything in their apartment, including throwing furniture and dishes. I was terrified and therefore I resolved to give up my 15-month fight. Although I was sick the next day, I spent the whole day looking for a new apt. By then it was 1982 and rents had *skyrocketed*, so I ended up paying *twice* as much for my second apt.

Everything was blissfully fine for a year, until the couple above me split up. They were stuck with the lease, so (he) illegally sublet to an acquaintance (a young woman) who was o.k. at first. However, eventually she lost her job and she decided to become a *prostitute* to earn money. Plus, she didn't have any carpeting or rugs (same old story). Her "specialty" was having men chase her around the apartment with whips while she wore nothing but *stiletto heels* (déja vu all over again). Naturally that all took place late at night....complaints to the super yielded nothing (what a "surprise" - and he sure "forgot" about my Christmas gift), and complaints to the management company had the same abysmal outcome. Once again, the police were also never able to pay a visit. Meanwhile - to make matters worse - my prostitute neighbor had acquired a boyfriend who was a member of the Russian Mafia. While I was (mercifully) on vacation, he was "rubbed out" *in our building* (it was a huge highrise on the Upper West Side). Afterwards there was an FBI "sting" in the building, and the Russian guy's brother was arrested along with various others. He languished on Riker's Island (where I hoped he would choke on his food rations) and the woman above me took it upon herself to try and make bail for him, so she heavily increased her "work" and soon had men in there practically all night long. Obviously sleep was hopeless for me - and when I got up the nerve to complain to her, she warned me against ever complaining again and then she had one of her Mafia "associates" warn me in person. At that point I decided it was impossible to contend with such insanity and I was genuinely fearful for my life. I also didn't know anyone who had been driven out of *one* apartment, much less *two*. I wasn't about to move to yet another Manhattan apartment and I was too young to be willing to exile myself to the outer boroughs (especially because there would be a very real safety factor involved in going home late at night), so I reluctantly concluded that NYC and I had to part ways after six years. I decided to make an extreme move to the San Francisco area, where I met my husband nine months later (see my last post re: that subject). In my more charitable moments, I thank that prostitute neighbor for making it possible for me to meet my husband. :)