She blinks twice, like I've asked her to explain quantum physics.
"What kind of sounds?"
"Thumping. Regular, rhythmic thumping. Every twelve seconds."
"Is it the heating system?"
"No."
"Plumbing?"
"No." I want to huff, sarcastically.
"Construction next door?"
"It's coming from inside my building."
"Right." She turns back to her computer. "I'll need you to be more specific about the maintenance issue."
How much more specific can you get than 'mysterious thumping sounds'?
"The building is making loud, regular, unexplained noises that are disturbing residents."
"What kind of noises?"
We've entered conversational purgatory. I lean against the reception desk, gathering patience from whatever reserves I have left.
"Imagine someone dropping a bowling ball. Now imagine they're doing it every twelve seconds, from inside your walls."
"Hmm." She clicks something on her screen. "That would be... structural?"
"Yes. Structural."
"I'll need to transfer you to our maintenance department."
She picks up a phone, dials an extension. Waits. Waits longer.
"They're not picking up."
Of course they're not.
"Can I leave a message?"
"They don't take messages. You'll need to call during business hours."
"It is business hours."
"For the maintenance department, business hours are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons."
Today is Tuesday. It's currently afternoon.
"So they should be available now."
"Unless they're on site calls."
I close my eyes. Count to five. When I open them, she's holding out the neighbor dispute form again.
"This really is the best option. Fill it out, describe the sounds, and we'll see what we can do."
