Living With Bad Neighbors
The first five years of living in North Carolina after we moved were good. We lived near the beach, we had good neighbors, and there were lots of kids around for my kids to play with. When the neighbors to the right of us moved, life began to spiral downward at a very fast rate. New neighbors moved in who hated us before they even knew anything about us. It was the weirdest experience of my life, and they made those last five years in North Carolina hell. I’ll protect their privacy and refer to them as Deb (an acronym for Dumb Evil Beyotch) and Dick (because that’s what he was).
Out with the old and in with the new...
Goodbye Jack and Ramona. You were fabulous neighbors, and I enjoyed all the fun times we shared! I hope life has been good to you, and, if you happen to read this, I figure you’ll get a good laugh out of what happened after you sold your house to Deb and Dick.
It was a Saturday, and the new neighbors were moving in next door. They didn’t have to go very far because they were moving from a house at the opposite end of the street from us. All day they carried stuff down the road from the old house to the new one. At some point I met Deb about halfway and welcomed her as my new next door neighbor…
Hey! I’m Pam and I’ll be living next door to you. Can I help you with any moving or anything?
She barely acknowledged that I was speaking to her, never breaking stride in her step as she pushed a vacuum cleaner down the road, but she did manage to spit out a quick “NO.”
I walked back home and decided it would be best to keep my distance and let her approach me if she changed her mind about being such a wench. As the days and weeks went by, terrible things began to happen, and I knew the source of these happenings because a good friend of ours, Frank, was also very good friends with Dick. It was like having a spy working for us, and he happily worked for beer. Dick would tell things to Frank, and then Frank would come to our house and spill his guts. It would have made an interesting preschool children’s book…
Run Dick run! Talk Frank talk. Die Deb die. Frank is good. Dick is bad.
The first incident involved a surprise visit from animal control. The officer said there was an anonymous complaint about two vicious dogs running loose in the neighborhood, and it was reported that those killer dogs were my two American Eskimo dogs...not Dobermans or Pit Bulls or German Shepherds, but two 30 pound Eskimos. I explained to the officer that my yard is fenced and the dogs had never ever been outside of the fence since we lived there. It didn’t matter, a complaint had been filed, and I was issued a warning that if another complaint was received about either of my dogs, regardless of the fact that there was NO record of them biting or being vicious, then I would be required to confine the dogs to a 6 x 6 pen with a concrete floor.
Frank visited with us a few days later and, after downing a couple beers, he informed us that Deb and Dick had concocted a plan to “take care” of the dog problem as soon as they moved in beside us. The dog problem involved Bubba, the male American Eskimo dog, who did have a bad habit of barking at the fence; however, I never allowed that to happen any longer than it took me to walk outside and bring him inside the house, and I did that relentlessly to prevent him from annoying the neighbors who lived on both sides of our house.
The radio, DEB, and the cops...
Every day there was worry over whether another bogus complaint would be filed against us, but it seemed Deb and Dick thought it would be more fun to attack us in numerous other fun ways. One of the things they did was call the police and complain about my husband’s incessant jibber jabbering on a CB radio that sometimes interfered with Dick and Deb’s television reception when he turned on a certain turbo switch. I really don’t blame them for complaining about that because I didn’t like it either. I just wish they would have come over to tell us when there was a problem instead of calling the police, yet they called the police many times until it reached a point where a policeman would knock on the door and simply ask me to tell my husband to turn the radio off.
One night Deb did come to the house to complain. It was late, probably due to the fact that flipping the turbo switch only happened late at night once my husband hit the 12-pack level which thankfully wasn’t often. After hearing the hard, rapid knocking, I got out of bed and made my way to the front door. Once I saw her, I had to rub my eyes to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Nope, this was no dream and the moment our eyes locked, her screaming began…
Can’t you control that idiot husband of yours and make him stop it with that f**king radio sh*t? I hate you all… you should just move out to the country somewhere and be with your own f**king radio talking kind! I’m calling…
I slammed the door right in her squirrely face mid sentence. Rage fell over me like a hot blanket, and before I even realized what I was doing, I flung the door back open and took off after her screaming…
Don’t you EVER bring your fat ass and silicone boobs over here again you mother funking dumb ass b**ch or I’ll kick your skanky ass so hard you’ll be seeing double for the rest of your sorry ass life!
Unfortunately she outran me otherwise there would have been a fight, and, while I dislike fighting, I was anxious and ready to make her eat some dirt. Her incredibly fast jackrabbit-like sprinting indicated she must’ve had lots of practice in running from people.
Can it get any worse? YES.
We had a period of time after that with no trouble, then one Saturday morning, I was in the living room cleaning up after the kids, and I heard Bubba barking. Looking out the window, I noticed Dick doing some weed eating at the fence, so, as usual, I went outside to get the dog and bring him in the house. When I reached the backyard, Bubba was nowhere to be found, so I ran into the garage and found him lying on the concrete floor with blood gushing out of one eye. I knew who was responsible, but there was no time for anger or confrontations, I had to get Bubba to the vet quick.
The vet’s best guess was that Bubba had received some type of extreme blunt force trauma to the eye, but he was unsure of what type of object could have done this damage. One thing was for sure, the dog didn’t do this to himself. The vet’s final word was that Bubba would be permanently blind in that eye, but he was slightly hopeful the eye wouldn’t have to be removed.
I called the police to report the incident after I got home, but they told me there was nothing they could do if there were no eye-witnesses to the crime. Just because I saw Dick at the fence very close to where Bubba was barking wasn’t enough evidence for the police to take action. Talking to Frank the spy seemed like a good idea since Dick confided all his dark secrets to him, but I had to wait a few days and give Dick some time to feel comfortable with his nasty deed, and then he’d surely gloat over the story to good ole Frank. The truth was quick to come out, Dick was indeed responsible, as I already knew, and he had shot Bubba in the eye with a BB gun.
Now you’ve done it you dick. You’ve crossed the line and there’s no way I’m turning the cheek on this one. What to do? Put a rattlesnake in the mailbox? No. One of their kids might find it first. Go over there and flat out shoot them both? No. Kids need their parents even if the parents are demons. Shoot them with BB guns so they get a taste of what Bubba got? No. They’d just call the police for the millionth time and I’d go to jail.
No matter how many evil plans came into my mind, I just couldn’t do any deliberate action to hurt these two people because I refused to suffer consequences that would follow an act of revenge. Plus, I knew they would get what was coming to them some day, because that’s the way karma works, but I wanted to be there to see it.
Another plan of action was called for. Then it came to me…psychological warfare…I would do something weird that wasn’t in reality hurtful to them, but it would make them think I was doing something to hurt them. My plan was to create a ritual that would make it appear I was casting some kind of spell on them. After a quick trip to a New Age store, I was armed with a big bundle of sage, and I waited for the perfect Saturday morning to arrive when Dick would be outside tinkering in the yard, and Deb would be dusting the window blinds and beating the throw rugs out of the back door.
The sweet taste of revenge...
When that day came, I dressed myself in a long flowing dress and covered my head with a scarf that hung nearly down to my waist after it was tied. After accessorizing myself with large, garish jewelry, I walked slowly and deliberately over to the fence that separated our yards and lit the sage on fire till it was smoking hard and heavy. Up and down the fence I walked waving the sage around in circles and waving my other hand to create some kind of New Agey effect, all the while chanting some babble I had rehearsed…
Oh angels of the north, south, east, and west…come to me on this day and create a mirror at this fence to reflect all harm from these people back on themselves! Yamma lamma ooba dooba ranky skanky doo dah day…bless my property and damn theirs to hell!
There she was peeking out between the blinds, while Dick was getting quite an eyeful too. Oh the pain of keeping laughter at bay. I had to turn my back to them several times to keep them from seeing my smiles of pleasure. SNAP…the blinds quickly closed, and Dick was making good time getting in the house. They both evidently come from jackrabbit stock. Mission complete! And while my actions that day may not have helped the situation at all, it made me feel better to think it might have scared them just a little.
There are some other horrible things they did to us that I didn’t mention here for the sake of length, like calling the police and reporting yet another lie that we were drug dealers. The vice squad actually showed up at our house and did a search. All they found were some old suckers and gum that the kids stuck under the coffee table, a Gooey Louie game complete with green boogers, a Barbie playhouse with naked dolls lounging about, a fully stocked play kitchen, and tons of other miscellaneous toys tossed carelessly around.
Before we moved back to Virginia, on the very eve of our final move with the U-Haul sitting in the driveway, Deb knocked on my door for the last time. To my shock, she apologized for everything they did to us. Maybe that little heebie jeebie act of mine scared her a lot. Perhaps she was hoping I'd remove that phony curse I put on her and Dick. Who knows? Anyway, I forgave her, and that’s why I’m not going to tell you how she got a boob job and then had an affair with the surgeon who performed this boob job (I guess he felt justified in doing a test drive) after which Dick blackmailed the (married) doctor for a ton of money for having an affair with Deb. Oh what a tangled web they weaved. If there ever really is a Judgment Day, then heed this warning and stand clear of Deb and Dick. It will be fierce!
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