The Disadvantages of Living on the Top in the “Best” Unit

Sometimes a bird’s eye view can be extremely inconvenient.

Hello, I am the crazy lady in the corner unit of the third floor. condo. Some people call it the penthouse. I call it a 100-year-old third-floor walk-up. My fellow condo owners assume that I feel entitled or better than them for some reason. But like most people, they see and believe what they want. We are living in the same building, after all.

There are no elevators here. And no parking. Unloading groceries consists of parking in a drop-off area and making two to three trips to the top. It’s my substitution for the gym.

This is not where I expected to end up after living in a one-family house for most of my life, but here I am. And to tell the truth, the space is big enough for two cats and me. But condo-living is like having roommates you didn’t plan on, and it can be challenging. Very.

My view from the back is of Logan Airport and the ocean, which stretches out to the Boston Harbor Islands. Even during low tide, when the tide is out you can see what serves as the ocean floor and it is still beautiful. It is enviable, and I can spend hours staring blankly off into the distance. But alas, there’s work to do so I can’t.

The front view of my condo. boasts of an ocean inlet called Lewis Lake. It is surrounded by grass and trees, a playground, and a vast expanse of lawn that serves as a walking path. The width provides plenty of room for social distancing.

Since I live in the corner unit, I have additional views as well. I can see the parking lot of the local drinking hole and the dumpsters.

The scenery has its advantages. But all is not beautiful from high up on my perch.

Why? Let me tell you.

Sounds and Smells Travel Up

I hear everything. Not just the tide rushing in. I can hear the loud conversations and cackling that goes on when people take to the patio for a little leisure. In truth, the place is a microcosm of a dystopian society.

The condo. documents designate quiet time as before 9:00 AM and after 10:00 PM. This is to ensure “quiet” time when people are sleeping. Water carries sound, so even quiet conversations are kicked up a few decibels.

Because I have the honor of living in the penthouse in the corner unit, I am privy to the ideal fishing hole. Most people are quiet, but some need to be reminded that it’s midnight, not noon.

When I say reminded, I mean a verbal warning. The crazy lady on the top floor likes her sleep and hates to be disturbed.

“Hey, it’s late. Could you keep it down?”

Usually, this does the trick. No one wants a visit from the police.

I also said smells. I have the privilege of inhaling stale, second-hand smoke from the woman on the first floor. It is the most potent in my bedroom, but by no means limited to that. The smoke has a way of seeping into everything. The halls, which consist of a central stairway, are plagued with it.

When I was a trustee, which sucked, other owners complained and opened the windows during the winter to let the smoke out. I asked the smoker if she would please open her windows to which she replied:

“I’m not going to open my windows wide. When I first moved here, lots of people smoked.”

“Fine,” I replied. “Open up your windows enough to blow the smoke out. And just so you know, you are now the only smoker in the building.”

That was years ago. Looks like the windows are closed again.

Dumpster Distractions

The dumpsters are my biggest distraction. They are a necessity because the town doesn’t pick-up the trash for any residence over three units. And they are loud, like a slamming a front door over and over again.

It is also the drop-off area, so I hear cars and car doors as well. And the conversations of the occupants. At all hours of the day and night. Fun!

At 2:00 AM a few weeks ago, one of my cats sauntered over me, waking me up in the process, so he could peer out the window. Headlights moved through my room. I waited for them to pass, only they didn’t. And then I heard an engine idling. At this hour they were up to some type of no good.

The occupant headed over and stood between the dumpsters, his back to the building, and spread his legs.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

“Take it easy. I’m taking a piss.”

I let loose. I won’t repeat what I said, but suffice to say if it were on television, it would be bleeped out big time. I went ballistic and didn’t stop until he left. The next day I made an effort to avert my eyes and hold my nose when I took my daily dumpster excursion.

As if this isn’t enough of problem, there’s the proximity to the sidewalk. Anyone passing by feels entitled to drop whatever they want into them. The condo. association pays over $500 a month for trash removal and based on weight, so yes, it’s a big deal. Little things add up.

A week ago, someone decided to dump off three tires. Sadly, although I was home at the time, I wasn’t able to get a picture of the culprit. My cats were napping and didn’t alert me to the fact there was activity. And yes, we will be paying to have the tires removed at some point.

And then, of course, there are the people who live here and feel they are entitled to dump whatever, where ever they want. We’ve had mattresses, box springs, sofas, cribs, you name it left in front of and besides the dumpsters. A unit owner, who I won’t name, decided to dispose of her mattress.

She left the filthy thing against the dumpster, facing the street with “Free” written on the plastic. Yes, that’s exactly what someone wants during a pandemic; your dirty, second-hand mattress. Are you for real?

Well, the crazy lady on the third floor saw it all, took a picture, and sent it to the trustees. When the trustees asked her about it, she said she’d arranged for it to be picked up.

Really? Then why label it as free? The trustee asked for details, and she went silent. Liar. They’re going to send her a bill, but she’s moving so I don’t know how they’ll make good on it. Sadly she’d already been given documents for her closing.

My work is never done.

I hear everything, and I’d like to ignore it. It’s unfortunate I didn't catch the culprit who dumped the tires. Chock one up for the bad guys.

I wish I didn’t hear the cars.

I wish I didn’t have to ask the fisherman to be quiet.

I wish I didn’t have to call the police at 1:00 AM when the drunks from the club next door fight, and argue, and then try to drive home.

I wish I didn’t have six flights of stairs to descend and climb each and every time I want to go outside. Or simply pick up the mail.

But with the views comes great responsibility.

I am the crazy lady on the third floor and my work is never done.