Did you know, the Hubble Space
Telescope was just an American spy satellite that's pointed to the
stars, instead of down onto the Earth?
*****
Living in a neighborhood half full of
retirees is a mixed bag. Granted, this neighborhood can be quiet as
a monastery without the younger families whooping it up to 3 AM. The
problem arises because retirees are so bored, anything
that moves in the neighborhood becomes their TV to watch.
Anything includes the mail man, the
occasional car down our long forgotten street, a cat or me. When I
step outside, I have to remind myself I'm being spied upon by 80 year
old neighbors who have little to do now. That's OK really, because
it's not like I'm standing on the sidewalk, picking my nose a good
three inches in, for all to see. In fact, watching me unload the
groceries from my trunk has got to be a mundane as I think it is.
As a neighbor, I guess I ain't too bad.
The only noise you may hear coming from this house is music and it's
not blasted at 100 decibels. I didn't throw parties due to a
seemingly rabies-infected German Shepherd who would broach NO other
person in this house but me. And I don't sell drugs so there's no
constant traffic at my home, for little five minute visits all day
long. Oh, and I don't have young kids screeching all day long
either. The best thing about having me as a neighbor? I won't bother
you at all if you don't bother me. What more could you want? You like
raping sheep in your backyard? I'll ignore it as long as you don't
invite me nor do it in my yard.
But, the one thing crime you may easily
convict me of is keeping the grass cut. I don't care a whit about
lawns and never did put the effort into cultivating a putting green
in my front yard. I harbor such an independent streak on certain
things that no amount of peer pressure is going to bend me. In fact,
It will make me even more determined to piss you off, allowing my
first noble reason to defy everyone degrade into simple peevishness.
Good luck in trying compel me to keep a Scotts type lawn. It isn't
going to work.
So, today I'm outside, finally cleaning
that pig sty I call my car. Actually, it wasn't as bad as I thought
it was, mostly dust, pollen and loose change spread out inside. Even
so, I did a bang up job, restoring this car back to a nicer
condition. The problem, of course, I was being watched.
Then I hear a voice...coming from god
knows where. A thin whispy voice the elderly have. “Ronnie!
Ronnie!” I turn to search for the source and I see my neighbor
across the street, hobbling over a little bit to make herself
clearer.
“Could you mow that strip in front of
you sidewalk...when you mow the rest of the yard?”
Being as polite as ever (to my
detriment, I swear to God at times it is!) I answer her “Of course I
will" and quickly dart my head back down to my work, cutting that conversation off quick.
Just right after that, and under my breath I
said this while cleaning the stereo in my car, “Fuck you,
Anna...for that, I'm not mowing anything for another week!”
I might just do that too. I can add to
the elderly neighborhood gossip circuit some great material they can
chew upon.
*****
Who knows? If I make it to that age,
perhaps I'll be the nosiest, privacy-invading fussbudget you'd ever
meet because I'll be bored out of my mind?
No comments:
Post a Comment