There are several residents in my apartment building who work from home. The trouble is, they've not learned to close doors like evolved humans, but rather slam them like savages.
Coupled with the slamming doors annoyance, a few of the residents conduct their lives in the hallway. I'd prefer not to wear earplugs or blast the stereo or TV while at home, especially when I'm working. There are a few artists in the building, two of which attempt to play instruments which makes hair on the back of my neck stand. Little drummer boy and his wife rent a second apartment below mine, and it's just below my home office where he sets about banging, clanking, and making all sorts of tomfoolery that irritates me, the cats, and the tropical fish.
Living in an apartment building makes me homesick for a private house in a remote area. Each time a door slams, it feels like a nail in a coffin. Each time a door slams followed by shrieking voices, wooden clogs up and down the stairs, I burrow deeper inside myself for fear of yanking my door open and saying, "Would you adults please grow up. Some of us are trying to earn a living in here!"
They are either taking their frustations out on the door, or they have no home training. Either way, one day I expect someone's door to fall its hinges.