Dreading the Noise

I hired a reggae band for my pool party on the Fourth of July weekend. As a responsible and considerate neighbor, I informed all my neighbors about the party. Everyone was okay with it—except you! Your neighbors warned me, “This crabby old lady who lives nearby complains about everything.” I went and spoke to you—and you began to experience some histrionic panic attack. You went on about how noise hurts your ears, how you tiptoe around your home so as not to disturb anyone, and how you would sue me if you had to go to the emergency room. And wouldn’t you know it, 45 minutes into the band’s set, the police showed up. Party over! You live on the block behind me, five houses down! You cost me $500 bucks for the band! But I’ll tell you what, the next time you have a panic attack in my presence, I’ll send the ambulance over for a free psychiatric evaluation.


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