Startup Fiance

I have tried to be nice. I make conversation with you while I am outside scooping poo and finding avocados. I do the neighborly wave when we pass one another on the street, and I make my naughty dog stop when he thinks its amusing to bark at you while you incessantly water your yard (anyone who wastes that much water deserves to be woofed at). Butterfinger spent the better part of the morning last week, in the pouring down rain, helping you retrieve your precious avocados from the furthest reaches of your tree. You even said it yourself, that we are the best tenants our landlord has had in this place in a long time, so why did you pull that stunt yesterday?

Here I was, Sunday afternoon, catching up on some emails, and you come to the door. Decked out in your best Members Only jacket and khaki pants, you proceeded to knock on the door relentlessly until I came, continuing to knock even after we had made eye contact and I visibly was trying to get the dogs away from the door. No sooner did I get my sweatpants-dressed bottom out to the front porch, do you have the nerve of accusing me of STEALING your newspaper! You then went on to say that its been about 6 weeks since you got a paper, which roughly translates to the same time Butterfinger and I moved in.

This was not what I expected to be confronted with during our impromptu meeting. I thought maybe some of the hooligans across the street were partying a bit too hard last night, or perhaps there was a new string of car vandalisms you wanted to warn us about. All I could think to myself was – I have never stolen anything in my life (ok, I did accidentally walk out of Rite Aid once with a pack of batteries, but I did not mean to take them), and here you are, trying to place blame on my household for your lost newspapers! I tried to maintain my composure while I explaining (aka pleading my case) that both Butterfinger and I work on the computer all day, and we prefer to get our news from electronic sources. To which you simply gave me a crooked “yeah right” look and urged me to ask the other members of my household. You then went on to tell me that this has never happened before in the 100 or so years you have lived in this place, that is a new phenomenon, again hinting to the fact that our arrival must have something to do with the vanishing news.

I was losing my cool at this point, and decided to take the route of placing the blame on the paper boy. I suggested that perhaps you should call the paper and make sure they have your address and everything correct. Which again was met with an evil “yeah right” glance, and you headed on your way. I don’t know who you think you are Mr. ex-military-man-who-hates-my-landlord-so-you-take-it-out-on-us. If I wanted to mess with you and play tricks, I would most certainly pick something a lot more useful with a higher entertainment value than the black and white newsprint I can find on the internets all day long. I would probably go for stealing your avocados, stuffing fish in your pipes, maple syruping your mailbox, smashing your flowers, or perhaps even spray painting your car, but lucky for you, I am not twelve, and do not get any real thrill from making my neighbors miserable.

You, on the other hand, seem to get some sort of sick pleasure from making us uncomfortable. I mean, why else would you go out of your way to accuse a group of 20-somethings of stealing your newspaper? I did not see you head to the other elderly neighbor’s homes after you left our house, are they somehow excluded from your suspicion because of their advanced age? I can appreciate the fact that you really do not give a shit anymore. You are old, you have lived a good life – honestly, this is the main reason why I find your age bracket so darn fascinating, but there is a difference from being an amusing, sarcastic, weathered, wise and straight-forward elderly person, and a rotten, rude, wretched, and just plain grumpy geriatric nut-case.

You will be pleased to know that I did ask the other members of this home if they had taken your papers. Here were the results of my poll:

Butterfinger: No real audible reply, just a head shake in the “no” direction.

Mounds: That crazy old man asked me the same thing a few weeks ago when I was outside talking to him over the fence.

Metallica Chocolate Bar: Nah man, I don’t read.

So please, do us all a favor and get back to tending to your vegetation, and perhaps take my advice and actually call the paper people to find out where your papers have been going. Be aware that I will be allowing Tucker to bark at you today at his will, not because I do not like you, but because I believe there needs to be balance in the universe.