Much ado about a balcony

So, we have a balcony. You know, those little landings with rails that hang on the side of a building? One of those. So do our neighbors, both above and below. The balcony was built together with the house, which means it's now 66 years old. It still holds us, and even our guests, if need be, so that's good. What's not so good, is that the concrete the balcony is made of is tired and cracked and crumbled. From underneath, big pieces of it fall down every time I hang a matress to air or try to beat the dust out of a rug. Sometimes they fall even when I am not doing anything.

Naturally, there is a business downstairs (all first floor and basement apartments in the city center have long beem turned into businesses). We have a beauty salon down there, and it has a nice roof. Every time a big chunk of concrete falls, it bounces off the roof and lands in the flowerbed in the street below. And every time that happens, we hear a chorus of voices from the street and 3 minutes later somebody is ringing the doorbell to tell us what we already know.

Most of the other neigbors have long repaired their balconies. Mine needs to be repaired too - as the madam from the beauty salon reminds me every time I see her.

So I call a handyman. We go and buy several sheets of tin and some hardware to go with it. We bring it to my house. The next day he comes with his brother, ready to start the work.

Oops! Almost forgot to mention: the only access to the underside of my balcony is... right, from the downstairs neighbor's balcony. So we go downstairs, ring the bell, the workers go in... 20 minutes later they come back up and report to me: "He wouldn't let us do it."

What on Earth can my neighbor have against me fixing the balcony? After all, some of the rocks end up on his floor, right? So I call him on the phone.

- I don't like the tin you got, - says he. - It's too shiny. I don't want that shine blinding me all day.

Right! Like he is ever home! I plead with him for almost an hour, offering to paint the tin, reminding that this is temporary, until the apartment is sold, asking him to buy the material himself... Finally I tell him that there are other ways of getting to my balcony, after all. Maybe I can call one of those, you know, power line repair cars with the landing reaching high up.

- Dont't even think about it, - says my nice neighbor. - If you put that tin there,
I'll take it down.

Okay then. So we return the tin, the workers go home and I tell the beauty salon lady that I can't fix the balcony. Let her fight with my neighbor now.
As for me, I'll just remain wondering, what was the REAL reason he wouldn't let me fix it?