bang..bang...bang

Who would I complain to?  What would be the point?
My employer has a modest workshop below my building, and the workers are banging.

I do not welcome spring or summer when we open our windows to noises---noises like
their bang, bang, bang.

God knows.  Within the confines of this building there are enough noises.  The elevator alone is a nuisance.

Talking in the central tube of the high rise.  Cars outside.

And best of all:  the dog left chained or tied outside the local German-owned grocery store,
where we must,
everytime,
prove,
PROVE,
that we've not stolen,
with an ostentatious display of our empty grocery cart,
proving that we assembled all of our purchases
onto the conveyor belt,
which the sleepy or grumpy or indifferent woman
(unless it's the one man)
will scan for us.

And,
just to be sure,
there's always the security guard,
equally emitting an air of boredom and lack of job satisfaction,
watching us,
lest we get out of line.

The fresh air of so-called democracy,
has never smelled so much like the stale air of a toilet.