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Jul. 11th, 2003
Good fences = Good neighbors
Jul. 11th, 2003 12:17 amSome of you might be wondering how an Uberreiniger differs from an unmodified human being. Well, here is one of the key differences. An ordinary human being would wind up getting stalked by a gorgeous, but insane woman who swears up and down that you promised to move to Paris with them and adopt their children when in reality all you said was "would you like some coffee?" I, on the other hand get stalked by a morbidly obese Philipino man with clear signs of mental defect.
Allow me to explain. This guy and his wife live in the apartment on the other side of the lot. Two weeks ago or so as I arrived home from work, he shouted something jovial, yet utterly unintelligible at me. Now, last Sunday he showed up at my door muttering something about how he and his wife want to be my friends. At least, I think that's what he said. It took him at least two minutes to spit out a ten-word sentence, with much wheezing and pausing between each word. I just wanted him off my porch, so I thanked him politely and sent him on his way. Now, yesterday he decided to start chatting up my father, explaining to HIM how he wanted to "be my friend."
There's a little angel on my shoulder which tells me that it's very sweet that a complete stranger would want to do that and that the world would be a better place if everyone did that and nobody knows their neighbors anymore and blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, I've met too many bizarre, fucked up people in my life to have any patience with this sort of thing anymore. One look at this guy can tell you that he's got a few screws loose, and I've been around enough loose-screwed people to know. I don't want to be his friend. All I want to do is tell him not to come near me or my father ever again. Is that wrong?
This whole place is turning into a bedlam. Ever since the family moved out next door it's just gotten creepier. First the wheezing Philipino guy, then yesterday afternoon I had to make threatening overtures to the teenage daughters of the screaming Mexican woman next door and their little friends who decided to start seeing if they could fling pebbles over the length of my car. Now my car is a busted, broken old mule and I'm replacing it in hopefully only a few weeks, but it's all I have to get me around in and I DON'T want anybody throwing rocks at it. Of course the teenagers weren't happy that I spoiled their little fun. Teenagers never are, nor did they care that I could clearly hear every word through the wall as they voiced their frustration that I was sitting right by the window, thus preventing them from resuming their little rock-throwing match. I've quit parking in front of their apartment, but that doesn't mean they won't find more creative ways to fuck with me. Especially now that I've drawn their wretched teenaged attention.
Then I get home this morning and find an unfired nine milimeter handgun bullet laying on the ground in front of my door. The casing was old and oxidized, not shiny brassy like a new shell, so it's unlikely it's seen the inside of a weapon any time recently. But still, wtf!? Then tonight while I'm out with my old friend Jodi, people start rattling the door. My father opens the door to find out what's up and hears someone up the steps say "Oh!" and then footsteps running up the stairs. Probably Mexican Mama's brood again, as I said, trying to fuck with me now that I've dared commit the ultimate invitation for juveniles to fuck with you: telling them to respect my property.
Up until now I wasn't looking forward to the idea of taking up my parents' proposition to move in with them when they get settled up here. After this week, though, I'm gangbusters for it. At least then I'd have somebody watching my back, keeping an eye on my stuff when I'm not there. I left both the living room and porch lights on when I went to work tonight and actually went out my front door wrapping up a fake conversation so that anybody who might be scoping me out would think these was still someone inside!
Next time I'm shopping for an apartment, I'm going to make sure the building has a large silver handle mounted on the side of it. A handle that says "flush."
Allow me to explain. This guy and his wife live in the apartment on the other side of the lot. Two weeks ago or so as I arrived home from work, he shouted something jovial, yet utterly unintelligible at me. Now, last Sunday he showed up at my door muttering something about how he and his wife want to be my friends. At least, I think that's what he said. It took him at least two minutes to spit out a ten-word sentence, with much wheezing and pausing between each word. I just wanted him off my porch, so I thanked him politely and sent him on his way. Now, yesterday he decided to start chatting up my father, explaining to HIM how he wanted to "be my friend."
There's a little angel on my shoulder which tells me that it's very sweet that a complete stranger would want to do that and that the world would be a better place if everyone did that and nobody knows their neighbors anymore and blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, I've met too many bizarre, fucked up people in my life to have any patience with this sort of thing anymore. One look at this guy can tell you that he's got a few screws loose, and I've been around enough loose-screwed people to know. I don't want to be his friend. All I want to do is tell him not to come near me or my father ever again. Is that wrong?
This whole place is turning into a bedlam. Ever since the family moved out next door it's just gotten creepier. First the wheezing Philipino guy, then yesterday afternoon I had to make threatening overtures to the teenage daughters of the screaming Mexican woman next door and their little friends who decided to start seeing if they could fling pebbles over the length of my car. Now my car is a busted, broken old mule and I'm replacing it in hopefully only a few weeks, but it's all I have to get me around in and I DON'T want anybody throwing rocks at it. Of course the teenagers weren't happy that I spoiled their little fun. Teenagers never are, nor did they care that I could clearly hear every word through the wall as they voiced their frustration that I was sitting right by the window, thus preventing them from resuming their little rock-throwing match. I've quit parking in front of their apartment, but that doesn't mean they won't find more creative ways to fuck with me. Especially now that I've drawn their wretched teenaged attention.
Then I get home this morning and find an unfired nine milimeter handgun bullet laying on the ground in front of my door. The casing was old and oxidized, not shiny brassy like a new shell, so it's unlikely it's seen the inside of a weapon any time recently. But still, wtf!? Then tonight while I'm out with my old friend Jodi, people start rattling the door. My father opens the door to find out what's up and hears someone up the steps say "Oh!" and then footsteps running up the stairs. Probably Mexican Mama's brood again, as I said, trying to fuck with me now that I've dared commit the ultimate invitation for juveniles to fuck with you: telling them to respect my property.
Up until now I wasn't looking forward to the idea of taking up my parents' proposition to move in with them when they get settled up here. After this week, though, I'm gangbusters for it. At least then I'd have somebody watching my back, keeping an eye on my stuff when I'm not there. I left both the living room and porch lights on when I went to work tonight and actually went out my front door wrapping up a fake conversation so that anybody who might be scoping me out would think these was still someone inside!
Next time I'm shopping for an apartment, I'm going to make sure the building has a large silver handle mounted on the side of it. A handle that says "flush."