I work from home now. The home I’ve lived in for ten years. Until now I was blissfully unaware of what goes on in my little suburban oasis during the day.
I have to say, ignorance is bliss. I now know things about my neighborhood I really never needed to know.
For instance, one of my retired neighbors is chummy with our neighborhood HOA rep. During the day, when the rest of us are working, he catalogs and reports all of our infractions. Like leaving our trash can out too long after trash day. Now, God bless him (that’s how us Texans introduce/approach a shit talking session with love and humility) , because I can’t imagine carrying around that much angst toward my fellow man, but I’m looking out my window right now at the five bags of trash that have been laying in his yard for over a week now. Did he tell Mr. HOA about that?
I mean, I get it, we chose a house governed by an HOA because we prefer that couches and refrigerators stay off the lawn. Some people like them in the yard. I’m not judging them. Shit, I grew up with them. It’s just not my thing. But you can’t get your panties in a wad about lingering trash cans while your trash bags linger in your front yard. That’s like me complaining about the neighbor having a dryer in his front yard while I get a beer out of the fridge in my front yard. I’m assuming the fridge works.
Next, I’m not sure the big package delivery giants (you know who they are) are the efficiency experts they claim to be. HOW CAN THEY BE? Their trucks pass by my house several times everyday. I’m not an expert, but I think we can put all of these boxes on one truck, and make one trip.
Squirrels….are running this block. My lot is managed by a squirrel missing his tail. This squirrel is gangsta’. He doesn’t let other squirrels ’round these parts. In fact, I’m paying him rent to live here. Lest he fly off the roof “Christmas Vacation” style and ‘recognize’ my ass for disrespecting his authority. I hear him on the roof chasing other squirrels who are either too stupid or too new to know better than to step into his territory. It’s a turf war, people, and not the cute, finger snappin’, “when you’re a jet” kind. It’s squirrel on squirrel violence, I tell you.
(This is daytime action. The raccoons come out at night. I already knew about them.)
Finally, solicitors. I say that with a giant sigh. I live in a ‘no soliciting’ community, but that doesn’t stop anyone. The old me, the younger me, would answer the door for every solicitor, because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings by not answering the door. Despite the fact that I know that every serial killer and every other crime story starts with, “knock, knock,” “who’s there?”
Last week, I swear I had Ezell from Friday here. He came across the street singin’, “La la la, La la la.” He knocked out a little tune on my door. Luckily, John was here to take care of business. As the musical knocking wound down, I looked at John like, “really?” And he sent him away. Today, I shit you not, a Suburban pulled up in front of my house. The driver stayed in the car. A man and woman, both wearing suits, got out and knocked at my door. I looked out the peep hole, looked out the window, stepped away from the door (in case they started shooting), and said, “NO THANK YOU!” I’ve never seen the movie, Get Shorty, but assume it’s about a thirty-something female who’s about 5’3″ tall, works from home, and gets kidnapped after answering the door for a complete stranger with a clipboard/Bible/catchy tune. I don’t intend to be the sequel. The new me loves myself enough not too get killed.
I realize these people are probably Spanish missionaries who came to my house because of my last name (we’ve met before, I confuse the hell out of them), but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve already got gansta’ squirrel to contend with.