the party downstairs

One should not take baths while having one's period, not only because of the obvious reason but also because it completely fails to do what it is intended to do, which is to provide the submersive erasure of the incessant thumping of the house music coming up through the floor from the party downstairs. But low frequencies travel through walls and become amplified by the shuddering steel sides of the bathtub, so instead of peace I get pounding, and I lay in the tub with only my face out of the water and sing loud arpeggios in my Kermit voice and dream of having this happen to those brats downstairs:

THE PARTY DOWNSTAIRS
by Angry Neighbor

WILLIAMSBURG, BROOKLYN, 2008. We see a FAT CHINESE MAN in pink flannel pajamas decorated with silhouettes of Christmas decorations, worn through on the right buttock, pounding on a door labeled "2B." His face is twisted into a knot of agony. We hear the thrum of foul music in surround sound, and know instinctively* that behind the door are young white boys with asymmetrical haircuts, collapsed girls with handmade clothes, utensils for crushing marijuana buds, a 5'3" sausage in a purple hat mismatching beats at a turntable, and minifridge-sized cabinet speakers paid for by parents' bankrolls. [*This is, of course, artistic license, because it is not by instinct but by observation that I know this to be true; during the last The Party Downstairs, at 6 a.m., I went a-pounding on the downstairs door and witnessed the aforementioned scene.] The door opens and a plume of marijuana smoke dissipates to reveal a TWENTY-SOMETHING man in a straw hat clutching a lime rickey.

FAT CHINESE MAN

(a beat) How old are you?

TWENTY-SOMETHING

I am 19.

FAT CHINESE MAN

I have 911 on speed dial.

CUT TO door of apartment building. The number "160" is illuminated on the door with each sweep of the police car's strobe. Unattractive youths with white powder limning their nostrils are led by cops into a paddy wagon, where the PURPLE-HATTED SAUSAGE sobs, "But I'm a Vanderbilt!" and a woman named CHARLEY (which we know because her shirt says "CHARLEY C'EST MOI") attempts to maneuver her cell phone with cuffed hands. A COP is talking to the FAT CHINESE MAN, who is now wearing a pink bathrobe from Victoria's Secret.

COP

Thanks for calling, sir. We always strive to ensure that the drug laws of this state are enforced uniformly. No NYU cokejobs go free on our shift!

FAT CHINESE MAN

I'm a woman.

COP

Oh, sorry. Ma'am. Heh, heh.

TWENTY YEARS LATER. A MIDDLE-AGED MAN (portrayed by somebody like Philip Seymour Hoffman) emerges from a bus labeled "The Bus That Takes People Off Riker's Island" and blinks at the sunlight.

MIDDLE-AGED MAN

(to nobody) I got exactly what I deserved.

In his hands, we see a faded purple hat. The camera lingers on the wretched condition of his ingrown fingernails.

END

Sweet, sweet justice, will I never know your savor? Because the music plays on, even as I type this pathetic revenge fantasy. My voice could not appregiate for long, so I lay supine in the tub as the water drained around me and through its suction learned what it feels like not to rage against the dying of the light - seriously folks, you really should stay in the tub while the bathwater drains, because it is sheer desolation - and then rose to rinse the raspberry jam and soap suds off my legs. When I am king I will not be just but I will be swift and the party downstairs will moulder forever in my seamy dungeons, BEATCH.