Chinese AC torture

Last night was an auditory nightmare. There is an apartment six floors above me with a window air-conditioning unit, and when the temperature becomes unbearably hot and moist, he turns that puppy on full-blast. Which is exactly what I do with mine. Unfortunately, my unit happens to be directly below his, and through some magic of physics, the tiny, dripping droplets of condensation from his unit somehow travel in a non-wind-affected, perfectly linear path down to the eight square inches of unit surface exposed through my window, creating a rhythmic and unwavering metallic snap upon impact. It was maddening to try and sleep through, and even though closing my bedroom door dampens the torturous dripping slightly, the room then becomes a hot chamber of suffocation, the only remedy being the ceiling fan, which cruelly, has a metallic ticking of its own that sounds like a baseball card in bicycle spokes. The heat must break.