It's Business Time

This past Saturday, I came home at 3:30 a.m. to find the dumpster and a black motorcycle in my parking spot. Shit. Why did this have to happen at this time? I was tired and frustrated. And I couldn’t exactly honk my horn so the perpetrator would come outside. Hell, it was 3:30 in the morning! I wanted to go to sleep…

Fuck it, I thought. I’ll just move the dumpster and motorcycle myself.

As soon as I put my Mazda into park and opened the door, a rotund African-American guy trudged down the stairs towards me. “Is that your spot?” He asked coolly.

“Yeah,” I said. “And somebody needs to move their shit,” I muttered, with a bit of irritation in my voice.

“I’m movin’ it,” he responded, shuffling towards his bike.

“You need to help me move the dumpster, too.” I told him.

Just then, my 40-something, female upstairs neighbor yelled out over the balcony angrily. She shook her fist at me, and in some sort of thick Slavic accent, she screamed, “You don’t talk to my customers like that!”

What? Customers? Does that mean what I THINK it means?

Yes folks, a hooker lives above me.

“Listen, I’m tired. I just want to park my car and go to bed,” I responded as calmly I could, thinking she would follow suit. But for some reason, this made her even more infuriated. Maybe she didn’t understand me.

“Fuck you, bitch! Go the fuck home!”

Keep your pants on, sister. (Well, at least until you get back to work.) I just wanted to pull into my parking spot. After all, it’s my spot.

“Fuck you, shit-cunt! Go home, bitch!” she screamed at me. Jeez. It was as if I was being verbally assaulted by a Russian hooker with Tourette’s. She kept screaming curse words at me maniacally. I was beginning to get scared. What if she unleashed holy hooker hellfire on me or did something crazy to my car—like slashed the tires?

Her customer moved his motorcycle behind someone else’s vehicle, and I backed my Mazda into my spot. When I got out of my car, my upstairs neighbor was still hanging over the balcony screaming, “Fuck you, bitch!” I walked towards her, and replied as pleasantly as I could, “Hey, all I wanted to do was park my car in my spot. I’ve had a really long day…”

She cut me off and screeched, “Don’t fucking talk to me like that! Fucking cunt! Bitch, go the fuck home!” She was enraged—like she wanted to claw my eyes out. Jesus, it was the middle of the night. I really didn’t give a shit what she was up to at this hour, as long it didn’t involve my parking space.

I gave up trying to reason with her. As I silently passed her on the way to my apartment, she hung over the balcony and yelled smugly, “That’s right, bitch! Go home! Have a good night!”

I unlocked my door and stepped inside, completely baffled by what just took place. Based on the incidents at hand, here’s what I concluded:

1) My upstairs neighbor is a hooker.

2) She has little grasp of the English language—except for a few choice curse words. “Bitch” and “cunt” appear to be her favorites.

3) It’s clear that she doesn’t like me. (Note: Before this incident, I’ve tried to say, “Hi” to her on several occasions, and she completely ignored me and/or gave me a dirty look. Does she think I’m going to steal her customers? Or maybe she thinks “Hi” means “rancid crotch.” I should discreetly slip a list of useful English greetings and phrases at her door. Yeah, that would help.)

4) She lets her “customers” park wherever they damn well please. What is this…Whore Depot?

5) Apparently, it doesn’t take much to make her fly off the handle.

And lastly...
6) she struck me as being psychotic. I am now somewhat scared of her.