Thursday, April 12, 2007

Proof of the existence of God.

For two years we have suffered through this. The next-door neighbor's 20+ year-old son took up the drums. In my less-than-perfectly insulated home this meant the throbbing and thumping (not exactly DRUMMING) was a wake up call in the morning, a irritation at night, and a just plain annoyance the rest of the time. The kid's room was on the side of the house next to ours so we got full-throttle effects. Bundle #3's bedroom was right there. She would roll out of bed, exclaiming, "He's really sweet but right now I hate him." The living room where I would sit and read became unusable because I would just get settled in and whump, whump, crash, it would start again. There was no rhyme or reason to when he'd start. It could be at anytime.

I overheard one of the other neighbors ask one day, "Is it you who is playing the drums?" He replied, "Yes, can you hear that?" This neighbor was several doors over from the other side of the house and SHE could hear it. He explained he was teaching himself. I missed the perfect opportunity to say something. I'm kind of passive/aggressive that way.

Anyway...

I only went over there once. It was a couple of months ago when Mr. W had been up all night sick with that Norwalk Virus that was going around. It was 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I stood on the neighbor's porch waiting for a break in the noise, HOPING he would hear my knock and answer. The mother answered. "I'm sorry," I said, "I hate to complain, but um, my husband's sick and he was up all night and just got to sleep, and... um..." "The drums," she asked. I said, "Eight o'clock on a Sunday morning is a little early." She replied, "I agree. I'll ask him to stop." He did.

"I agree." Okay, lady. If YOU agree that 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning is a little early, and it's YOUR house, why are you letting this go on?

The other day I heard the beep, beep, beep of a truck backing up. I went to the front window and looked out to see who was getting a delivery from Best Buy this time. It wasn't a delivery truck.

"Come quick," I called to Mr. W. I yanked the door open and stepped out onto the porch. I got teary. "It's a beautiful thing," I cried. The gentlemen in the driveway looked puzzled. And what to my wondering eye should appear...
















Silence is golden!

2 Comments:

Anonymous Fec Stench said...

Oh dear, that is terrible. I must admit to having gotten a bugle in 1970, a cornet around '76 and then a trumpet. That is why people used to build houses farther apart.

April 13, 2007 6:30 PM  
Blogger David Whitehead Greensboro NC said...

Some parents astound me. In my old neighborhood, the kids across the street were playing their music loud enough to shake my walls, so I called to ask them to hold it down...and their mother answered the phone.

I explained the problem and she replied, as did yours, "I'll ask them to turn it down."

I wish I had been quick enough to say, "Lady, the fact that

A: this is happening while you are at home, and

B: You are going to ASK them to turn it down...

tells me all I need to know about who's in charge at your house.

April 17, 2007 10:13 PM  

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