Sometime shortly after four this morning, I was forced to heed the call of nature. (Oh, yeah, this is going to be a great post! Can you tell?) Now, I’d have likely remained asleep the entire time, but there were noises about. Karin was awake. But behind that, dully, was the sound of bass beats.
I pulled the wad of orange foam out of my left ear – I wear ear-plugs when I sleep – and slowly came to realize the music’s origin was outside the house.
Then I heard Karin say, “Our neighbor is an asshole.” She was standing in the door of the bathroom in a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants (so cute), smoking a cigarette. The TV in the living room was on. She’d obviously been up for a while.
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to five,” she said. “I woke up at three-thirty to— what’s the group that did Some Heads Are Gonna Roll?”
“I woke up to that shit! So did Amanda! Asshole was sitting out in his car listening to it! In his car, Kirk! At three-thirty in the morning!”
In the living room, the music was clear as day. Drunken Asshole Neighbor – we’ll call him “Dan” – was treating the entire neighborhood to a not-so-eclectic mix of mid-80s glam rock. He had moved from his car to his garage, but the thin aluminum garage door did little to suppress the caterwauling of the various washed up hair-bands. Dan was undoubtedly shit-faced. Even if Karin hadn’t seen him nearly perform a face-plant in his own driveway an hour before, his history of drunken idiocy is widely known. And besides, only drunk people crank their music at 5am and no one’s ever just a little drunk at that time of the morning.
Lacking a decent sound-recording device, I took the video camera out to document, just for you, the unmitigated gall demonstrated by the drunk-ass punk-ass living next door to me. I’m sleepy and pissed-off in this recording, so please forgive my remarkable lack of eloquence. It’s not an award-winning narration by any means. And there’s not a lot to see, because it’s dark out – it being, you know, so freaking early. But I think it will at least give you an idea of how utterly loathsome people can be.
Shortly after I’d gone back inside, we heard Dan go out his front door. I looked out the window and watched him stagger out to his car, get in, and drive off! He returned only a few minutes later, probably having realized alcohol wouldn’t be sold for another forty minutes.
My advice to you: try not to buy a house next door to a rental. The next-door neighbor crapshoot gets old fast.