Living in an apartment usually comes with certain unspoken rules: respect quiet hours, don’t throw furniture like it’s a javelin, and never attempt to summon wildlife from the ceiling. Most people follow these rules. Our upstairs neighbour? They apparently skipped that section entirely.
By night, our neighbour transforms into something between a percussionist, a seagull, and a demolition crew. But it’s not just them. Their guests, apparently enrolled in the same “How to Be a Nocturnal Menace” course, join in the nightly performance and attempting, with terrifying dedication, to mimic seagulls.
Yes. Actual, drunken seagull impersonations.
Some recent highlights from our “seagull symphony” archives:
- 2:57 a.m. – The Solo Squawk: A guest trips over a chair and immediately launches into a high-pitched, prolonged squawk, as if auditioning for “Seagulls: The Musical.”
- 3:03 a.m. – Duo of Doom: Guests bang on the floor in rhythm while squawking back and forth, creating a call-and-response effect reminiscent of birds fighting over the last chip on the beach.
- 3:15 a.m. – Full Ensemble: A dozen stomps, slams, and shrieks coincide as several guests join in, each trying to out-squawk the other. We’re not sure if they’re rehearsing or just attempting to break some ancient seagull world record.
- 3:41 a.m. – Furniture Meets Flight: A chair is hurled mid-squawk across the room, perfectly timed to hit the crescendo of a drunken chorus mimicking a flock of seagulls in a hurricane.
We have tried everything: polite notes, noise complaints, and even thoughtful meditation to cultivate inner calm. The neighbour’s dedication to chaos is unmatched. One memorable evening, a guest attempted to “fly” across the living room mid-squawk and knocked over an entire lamp display. The crash was punctuated with a triumphant, slightly off-key, “KAAAAWWW!” that still haunts our dreams.
Our coping strategies have evolved. Earplugs alone are insufficient. Noise-cancelling headphones are mandatory. We’ve also started rating nights on a scale from 1 to 10: 1 being a single thump, 10 being a full orchestral seagull ensemble with flying furniture accompaniment. The guests’ mimicry adds bonus points for creativity and audacity.
Somehow, despite the frustration, it’s impossible not to be amazed. The coordination, if unintentional, is impressive. The dedication to chaos is… almost artful. And if you ever need inspiration for a story about drunken seagulls overthrowing civilization, we can provide firsthand accounts.
Living beneath this nightly symphony has taught us patience, resilience, and the importance of industrial-strength earplugs. It has also shown that sometimes, the universe delivers a kind of absurd comedy you can’t script: humans pretending to be seagulls, bashing chairs like it’s their destiny, and yelling at the ceiling as if the walls themselves are listening.
So, if you ever find yourself beneath a neighbour who treats midnight as a performance hour and whose guests think they’re auditioning for “Seagulls Gone Wild,” remember: embrace the chaos, laugh when you can, and maybe invest in a reinforced ceiling. You’ll need it.