Turning Shit into Gold since 2006
Without hesitation the letter was taped to the front door. Months of endless ignorant agitation from the woman next door and her destructive dogs had led to this whiskey fueled flare up. It was an uncensored rant filled with firm language and emphatic accusations. The harshly scribbled words held no consequence as I quickly dashed down the steps, escaping the porch light like a POW ducking from a brightly lit sniper tower.
Most of the time business like this is brought about by Dutch courage and without warning it leaves in its wake a verbal lashing that resonates far beyond the time it takes one to produce and present the foggy idea. The frustration that this insolent woman had caused over the last ten months completely warranted my vengeful Post-it out lash but in the end it was her hillbilly retort that made me feel like maybe I had taken things a tad too far.
“How dare y’all say what was said in that ltr (letter). I never did nothing to the both of y’all.” A far cry from eloquent, her counterpoint note was riddled with enough grammatical errors to fill a wheel barrow. It was as if when she was writing she confused the pen in her hand for a cell phone because each sentence seemed to be structured in a texting format. Numbers replaced words and entire words were reduced to a couple of letters.
Oddly enough it was not her poorly constructed note that made me bad, it was a moment I witnessed while I peeped through my bedroom window that caused me to regret my hasty and informal mode of communication. The moment that made me feel like I had crushed a wingless cricket came as I watched her boyfriend attempt to fix the battered fence. After he had measured the damaged area of the fence and concocted a plan, he put his arm around his distraught woman and walked her inside. Her head was held quite low, dejected you might say, and I am pretty sure she kicked the dirt in a futile attempt to convey sadness as she scuttled towards the back door.
For whatever reason, this tiny glimpse into her pathetic world made me feel incredibly guilty for exposing her flaws as a dog owner and an all around failure as a human being. Years of God-fearing rearing had done its job and my blatant hatred of thy neighbor had come back to bite me in the ass. Thanks a lot Jesus.
Two days later I found myself going between regret and admiration for my audacious move. It was as if I was caught between the moon and New York City, unable to choose a destination.
Finally, after two drafted apology letters were chewed up and spit out to keep from actually giving into my Catholic guilt, it was my voice of reason, aka DD Riley, who talked some sense into me. Fuck that stupid bitch. She makes everyday a hassle by not attending to her loud dogs that are damaging our fence on a daily basis.
Catholic guilt is one of those things that can be quickly taught, but one that is not easily forgotten. Sometimes it takes a minute, or in my case 48 hours, to realize that moral lessons based on theory and not reality are usually not worth fretting over.