Shaking The Popcorn Until She Pops
When I was in elementary school in the mid-1990s, my friend lived in the upstairs portion of a duplex that was owned by the woman who lived downstairs. She was the definition of the neighbor from Hell. She constantly called them about being too noisy or lied about what they were doing. She would call the parents at work to complain about the kids ([Friend] had two siblings), which hilariously backfired a few times when the kids were at sports practice after school or something and the parents called her out for lying.
I went to their house a number of times and witnessed that the slightest noise resulted in [Neighbor] banging on the ceiling with a broom. They knew that previous tenants hadn’t lasted long, and their theory was that [Neighbor] was purposely awful in order to drive people out of the house, which meant breaking their lease, meaning she could keep their deposit.
I wasn’t there for the glorious final straw, but I wish I had been.
[Friend]’s mom was pulling a casserole out of the oven when the dish slipped out of her hand and hit the floor. The dish shattered, which splashed hot casserole on Mom’s feet and legs and caused some of the glass to cut her. There was an immediate banging from the floor below, at which point [Friend]’s dad had had it. He told the kids to start stomping and don’t stop. [Friend] told me they stomped throughout the house for twenty minutes straight (surely an exaggeration, but you get the idea) and had a lot of fun doing so.
When Dad finally told them to stop, he went downstairs and told [Neighbor] what had happened with the casserole dish and that her reaction was unacceptable. Instead of coming to check on them after hearing such a big crash and someone yelling in pain, her banging on the ceiling was irrational. He told her that from then on, if she ever did it again, he was going to tell the kids to start stomping again.
She was good for a couple of days, and then she banged again, which started the stomping, after which Dad went downstairs and told her he wasn’t joking; it WOULD happen every… single… time.
Apparently, they had stomped so hard and for so long that they had shaken the popcorn off the ceiling. Popcorn ceilings were pretty popular in houses built in the 1970s, and I know from experience that the stuff is a nightmare to clean up.
At some point shortly after that, [Neighbor]’s son came to visit, and she must have complained to him. The son went to talk to the family and apologized, basically saying:
Neighbor’s Son: “I know my mom is awful and that you guys aren’t bad. You’re actually much better than other tenants we’ve had. I have talked to her, and she will not bother you anymore.”
After that, the relationship didn’t become friendly, but it at least became strained ignorance of each other, which was better than what it had been.