There is a special place in Hell for inconsiderate fucks whose alarm clocks bleat incessantly on mornings they're not home to silence them. After listening to this nonsense through the wall for way too long, I swap lounge-y pants for pajama bottoms, shove my feet into snow boots, throw on a coat, and dash outside to tape a note I've typed in a large font to the door of the building housing the offending apartment. Later I hesitate to scrap the Word document without saving it, thinking, "I'll want proof!" and then think, "Of what?" That I'm such a superheroine?