Last night I had one of the strangest experiences I have ever had here at Chateau de Ghetto. Naturally, this ‘event’ came to pass as I was sitting on the john half-asleep…
After tossing and turning for about an hour I realized that I had to go to the bathroom. Given the large quantities of water I consume on a daily basis, this was hardly surprising. Silently grousing to myself, I got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom.
As is his habit, Tortilla was sprawled out in front of the toilet. I step over him, drop trou and get down to business. I hear something. Thinking this was just another exotic sound my apartment makes at night (there are many), I try to ignore it. After about 5-10 seconds I realize that what I am hearing is too melodic to be a mere squeaky pipe or gurgling radiator.
It took another 5-10 seconds of intense concentration for me to come to the realization that I was hearing music. Tunes of the Latino Hip Hop variety my next-door neighbors often see fit to blare for my (shared) entertainment. They’re thoughtful that way, my ‘nabes.
Having awakened sufficiently to exercise logic, I look around for my husband’s shower radio. I can’t find it. Suspecting that our old bathroom radio may be the culprit, I checked it as well. IT IS WASN’T ON.
This is when I started to get agitated. Tortilla, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind this the least bit. For all I know, homeboy was probably enjoying it. I’ll never know this for certain, as Tortilla does not have the gift of speech and bears a permanently stoned expression on his face. He is not the brightest of bulbs.
When I reached for the toilet paper I (finally) discovered the source of the sound: the water pipes. It was coming from the plumbing stack that goes to the apartment upstairs.
From the best I could tell, the pipe was serving as some kind of ‘receiver’— much like those urban myths you hear about when a person’s filling picks up radiowaves and a house party commences inside his (or her) mouth. I have ruled out my upstairs neighbors, a 50-something married couple, as being responsible because they do not listen to Hip Hop. Even if they did, I doubt they would do so at 11:30 p.m. at night. This strikes me as being out of character for them. In any case, as soon as someone upstairs turned on a faucet, the music stopped.
I don’t think I will tell the landlord about my new ‘radio’. Knowing him, he’d probably try to charge me for it. If this happens again, I hope it’ll be a different station. Preferably one that specializes in Mariachi music. I like my bathroom visits to be festive.
Update, 2:12 p.m.:
About an hour ago I received an email from Kevin Walsh (of Forgotten NY). He wrote:
Months ago I too noticed faint music emanating from no discernible source in my apt. I assumed it was a ghost though I don’t believe in them, ignored it and it went away…
Feeling a little cheeky, I wrote back:
Well if there is a ghost in this apartment, right now he/she is listening to Motley Crue. AGAINST THEIR WILL. I am currently engaged in ‘rocking out’.
After Motley Crue, I listened to Kiss. After Kiss, I listened to the Butthole Surfers. Into the second song I heard a LOUD, inexplicable rap on my living room wall. I guess my resident goblin doesn’t care much for Gibby Haines. He (or she) seems to be perfectly OK with Britney Spears though. Go figure.