What Would Thurber Do?
(For Keith Olbermann)
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or in the adjacent apartments, is coincidental.
I have new neighbors. This, of itself, would not be worth noting in the normal course of events, except for two unusual coincidences recently.
Let me give you some background. My building is a triplex.
There’s me, a one armed, 66 year old retired curmudgeon who generally keeps to himself and spends most of his time in doctors’ offices or at home writing poetry, painting or wracked by excruciating pain and therefore lying in bed in a darkened room. I live at #21
Next we have Ray and Thelma, the bus driver and his bipolar wife. Now Thelma, the wife, despite the clause in all our leases, has gradually over five years, accumulated, four, yes, four pets, two marvelous cats and two miniature dogs. Miniature, yappy, bark at everything, I mean everything, dogs, including the husband EVERY time he comes home from work. But, OK, they’re alright, once they calm down. So we have managed to get along fine for the past five years. They live at #19
Last, the new neighbors in the upstairs apartment. Shirley is about 5’, dark, petite, very quiet, always busy, from an Asian country, her first words to me were "I’m going to the store, can I get you anything?" She is surrounded by hopeful young men. Elizabeth is over 5’ 6", blond, loud, carries herself with the grace of an elephant (remember I live below), smokes heavily and has a weight problem. They live at #21½. That’s how I know about the young men. About two or three times a day, someone knocks on my door asking for Shirley, mistaking the address: "Er, ah, er, is Shirley here?" Me: "Middle door, upstairs fella."
Back to the coincidences.
First, one of the girls brings a boyfriend home, with D-O-G, to stay overnight.
Next morning, here comes the landlord, a friend of mine. Bill is the owner of a successful contracting company in town and uses a storeroom in the building to keep supplies. As he and his workers are opening the storeroom, both Thelma’s little dogs run up to the Latino workers yapping and snapping. One of them bites one of the guys on the ankle. At precisely the same moment, down the stairs, comes the boyfriend with his d-o-g on a leash to take him for a walk.
Bill hits the roof. But he is also a Brit. So he does not explode immediately. He is six feet and four inches of British aplomb. He is steaming , he is livid, he is totally under control, he gives me that raised eyebrow of which only subjects of Her Royal Majesty are capable. I can tell immediately what’s going to happen. That afternoon, in both their mailboxes, both my neighbors are given notice to quit.
The girls upstairs quickly fix the problem when they explain that it was only a temporary overnight stay while the boyfriend’s apartment was being renovated.
Ray and Thelma, however, have finally run out of excuses. Ray is pretty mad at Thelma who has gradually added pets at the rate of one per year. Today they found a house with a yard and the owner likes animals so it looks good for them. I will miss them, Ray has been a good friend during my trials over the years.
Now, back to the young ladies upstairs. Elizabeth has decided that I was the cause of the trouble with the landlord in the first place. To this day I do not know what I could have done to make her so mad at me. If she only knew that, of all the candidates who wanted the apartment upstairs, I recommended these two above all others. Elizabeth is still in "High School" mode and seems to think that she is owed something just by being here. Finally, today, when I asked her to please stop leaving the dirty ashtray full of spent cigarette butts in front of my door for days on end she told me, in no uncertain terms to "Go f#$% myself" (ah, the language of those with no language skills). I’m thinking of posting this little message on her door tonight:
Challenge
In the past 6 years I have survived 3 cancers, 4 heart attacks, several strokes, many seizures, and the amputation of my left arm.
My wife had a breakdown and left me two months after my arm was amputated.
Nevertheless, I have always managed to keep a sunny disposition and have always been a good neighbor for the entire duration. Ask anyone who knows me.
It will take more than an overweight blond bimbo (bimbette?) who knows a scatological phrase or two to knock me off course.
Remember, young lady, you chose to start the insults. If you want them to stop, an apology on your part will be accepted and I will gladly withdraw the above.
PS It’s impossible to do what you suggested I do to myself, although it would be fun to try!
On the other hand, why waste the paper, the President wants us all to be frugal and confrontation is just not in my nature.
I wonder after all: "What would Thurber do?"
©
CJ Campbell
January 2011