Jan 17 2007
Sometimes People Suck
I haven’t posted much lately because I’ve been getting more sleep. I wonder what percentage of bloggers could say the same?
A few highlights:
It Was a Real Bash
My wife’s family invades her uncle’s house for Christmas every year. Cars end up parked on both sides of the street, leaving little wiggle room for those trying to get somewhere. As we pulled up, I thought, I can’t believe that in the nearly 15 years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never heard of anybody’s car getting hit.
Don’t ever allow yourself to tempt fate like that.
On the night we left, I walked out to Homer with a load of luggage and opened the front passenger door. A loud, metallic “pop” echoed off the houses on both sides of the streets. I couldn’t see it very well, but it looked like the area behind the front right wheel had a new dent. Hasn’t Homer had enough trouble lately?
At the first stop, we confirmed it. Somebody had given us a holiday hit and run. What tidings they brought.
Bastards.
Inspired by the Mokker
Friday night, as I worked to make my computer work (I was replacing the motherboard and CPU to make it bigger-stronger-faster), Ben lay in bed in his room. A growing roar came from the street in front of our house. As it got closer, I knew it was a motorcycle, and it sounded like it had no muffler.
It Doppler’ed by our place and then came back for another, slower pass. I was sure it was going to wake Ben. It was 9:50. I heard the engine noise die down a bit and figured it was over.
The sound grew louder again and stopped in front of our house. I got up and rushed outside to get a good look. Frigid rainwater soaked into my socks as I traipsed onto the lawn. A grown man was on what looked like a 50cc motorcycle. If you’re not familiar with that measure, sometimes you see 5-year-olds racing these things.
There he was, knees akimbo, no headlight, revving the engine over and over. There are no streetlights on our section, so I couldn’t identify the rider, but I was pretty sure he noticed me.
I came back in and quickly peeled off my wet socks.
Shannon came into the room. “What the hell was that?” she said.
“Some idiot out there running up and down the street on his motorcycle.”
I returned to the computer room and had barely sat before I heard him revving the engine even louder, still in front of our house. I grabbed my duck shoes from the closet (I’ve had them since 1992), found an umbrella and headed back out the front door.
“What are you doing?” Shannon said.
“I’m going to go tell him to cut that shit out.”
“Don’t get in a fight,” Shannon said.
I almost laughed. I haven’t been in a fight since I was in fourth grade, and that was just a frustrated Patrick Riley pinning me down for some face-punching practice.
Things are different now that I have a child. Mess with him, and I might very well clock you in the snotlocker. A lot.
I walked up the street, trying my best to angle the umbrella for maximum protection. By the time I got about seven or eight houses down, to where this guy appeared to be pulling the motorcycle into his garage, my legs were soaked.
“You know, some people’s kids are probably having trouble sleeping with that thing running up and down the street,” I said.
“Excuse me?” The two kids in his garage, not 10 years old yet, looked on.
I repeated myself.
“Do you mean, ‘Sir, could you please stop riding that motorcycle?’ Is that what you’re asking me?” The smartass tone cut through the sound of the rain.
“Yes, politely,” I said, although he clearly was my junior and judging from his behavior didn’t deserve to be addressed with that much respect.
“Okay, then. No problem, bro.” He puffed out an incredulous laugh.
I turned and splashed back across the street, the wind tugging my umbrella.
I had just talked to a man with CAS — Classic Asshole Syndrome. The only cure I know is too violent for me.
They’re a dime a dozen, Bro’. You did all you could and did it well. Sometimes you just gotta let it go. There’s a place between heaven and hell for people like that. I’m not sure what happens to them there, but it’s fun to think about…
Hmm.. I might have called the police, as I bet the motorcycle wasn’t registered.
Then again… you could have used a hand-held air horn against their house at 2:30am… but that would have waked other neighbors too.
Too bad people like that have no concept of others.
Too bad I wasn’t still there. We could have roughed him up, bro.
I forgot to add the obligatory smiley.
:)
We’re mostly fond of our next door neighbours, but the husband recently bought a fixer-upper truck and, some nights before it got too cold out, could be heard revving the engine (sans muffler) as he tinkered in his garage past 11 PM. Never did wake the boys but, come the spring time, I’ll be more aware and less tolerant of the rumbling. Thankfully, he’s a lot more accommodating than your CAS neighbour.
It’s too bad this guy ruins it for the rest of us with motorcycles. Granted, his doesn’t really qualifiy, but most people still lump him in with those of us with a little more respect.
On another note, you gotta get rid of this van. It’s bad luck. Unless you’ve got a whole other blog dedicated to all the wonderful memories it’s brought you. :)
Oh, and yeah, there is definitely a direct inverse ratio that corresponds to my own blogging versus sleep. The same can also be said (though not quite as directly) about frequency of marital relations.
I didn’t write anything to be posted today.
Linda - Yep, and in the past I would have stayed inside my house and either 1) bitched and moaned, or 2) called the police with my shades drawn.
Dave - What a brilliant idea! I’m sure that thing wasn’t street legal, especially considering it had no headlight. Oh well, quicker minds in hindsight.
Alvis - That guy would have been screaming for his kids to call 911. We would have been all like, “You better call 9111, because that’s how many bones we’re gonna break.”
Simon - As long as the truck’s not up on blocks in the driveway or front yard, then that’s neighbor’s okay in my book.
Blogging or sleep? Blogging or what? I’ll take “what” please.
Josh - I don’t stereotype like that. All bikers are hoodlums, though. ;-)
Well folks, we’re in winter’s icy grip (I hate that worn-out phrase). I almost turned around and went back home, but I soldiered on and now we’ll just see whether or not I can get home. Not supposed to get above freezing today.
I know, Simon, you’re really weeping for me, mister -35 degrees.
Way to go, Mark. Unless you come out swinging with a case of CAS of your own…most people are not going to get violent over a request for quiet. Even this guy who felt he needed to pile on another level of asshole to his already asshole behavior wasn’t about to get in a fight over this.
I’ve been lucky. My loud neighbors are just clueless kids. Very polite and apologetic when you go over there and remind them through the pot smoke that they are not alone on the street.
Also…I do not understand this new trend of grown men on tiny bikes. We’ve got them here too. Knees spread like wings zipping around with a high pitched whine. I don’t get it.
Si - nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more.
Mark, I’m not *really* weeping for you. It’s turned quite tropical here this week, also now hovering around the freezing point. I’ve not deigned to zipper my jacket as a show of rejoicing.
You can mock me accordingly when, this August, I start to bitch and moan about the heat wave as things get cranked up above 85 degrees or so. Seriously, that is tooooo hot! I don’t like ANYTHING above 80 (25-ish Celcius).
Moksha - “Does she go? Eh? Eh? Does she go, eh Guv’ner?”
(I can sense myself rapidly descending into adolescence, so better stop. Say no more!)
Guess that’s my cue to enter stage right… (the adolescent reference, not the does she go…)
You can lump me in with the “choosing sleep over blogging” population. What is it? Post holiday depression? Winter ennui? I dunno but I’m hoping to snap out of this quick.
Had a little vehicular unfortunance myself today, little Bro’.
As I was backing out of my driveway at 6:30 am, I was simultaneously pushing the button which moved my seat forward. The motion, or the anti-motion or dual motion or whatever you want to call it, triggered a short but tremendous dizzy sensation which caused me to plow over two bushes (and two solar walk lights) in our front hedge. No negligible damage to my car but I was afraid to look at it until I came out of work today. Poop. The bushes look way worse than my car…
Crap, forgot to say, Way to go Si. ;-) You have anything to add to your fine, sweetheart?
Moksha - Yeah, dem crazy pot-smokin’ rockers.
Thanks for the Monty Python lines, guys. I always enjoy a good Python reference.
Linda - Ouch! Kind of funny, but sorry you killed your bush. I mean, bushes.
Albatross!