Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-05-07 - 8:25 p.m.

The Other Neighbors

I spent ten or so minutes out in the street chatting with one of my neighbors. One of my neighbors who happens to be an elderly woman who sits on the board of the condominiums in which I live. And while we were talking, the oddest thing happened - I got shorter, and shorter, and shorter.

Because, you see, dear, I missed the fire extinguisher service last year, and my extinguisher wasn't fully charged. Maybe there would have been less damage if it had been. And also, we're so glad I'm safe, dear, that was sooo scary, but the reason this woman didn't come out right away when she saw the four of us out in the street screaming and crying was because she thought we might be having a family fight. And one good thing comes out of this, dear - it will remind all the other homeowners to vacuum behind their refrigerators, won't it. And to replace their appliances before they get so very old. And to be responsible about carrying insurance on our contents. Oh yes, they're planning an entire meeting devoted to this subject for everyone who lives there, and how we can all prevent this kind of thing from happening.

I hate her. Can I say that? I hate her, hate her, hate her.

I hate that I listened and nodded and I'll bet I even said thanks because that's how my mama raised me, oh yes she did. Like I was saying, "Oh yes, I am sure the fridge went sky-high because I don't vacuum often enough; it happens all the time. Also, I think I probably should have had my morals tightened. That could have been part of it, too." And I didn't say, "Fuck your ignorance, Marge. It sounds as though you think the fire was caused by my housekeeping or failure to be fully insured or failing to be wealthy enough to replace a working appliance because it got old. How old are YOU, Marge? How long since you vacuumed your own backside? I think I'll be responsible and not wait for you to blow up suddenly. I'll get rid of you RIGHT NOW."

I didn't say these things, because I am a polite person, but I am not nearly polite enough not to think them. And, sadly, not nearly smart enough to think of them until I'm driving away.

I suppose I could add here that the reason I spoke to this woman at all was that she had corralled my children and asked them when we were moving back in because we couldn't move in without power; and when they told her they didn't know but that the power was back on, she asked them IF I HAD TURNED IT ON MYSELF, because that would be unsafe and illegal and maybe endanger the neighbors. To which I did NOT say, "Oh yeah, I turned it on. I figger if the place didn't blow, it was prolly safe, plus I don't gotta PAY for it now, want I should fix yours up too?"

But we had fun at dinner. Because this woman, who knows I have had trouble paying my bills (when I mentioned going to work, she said, "Oh, you work?"), obviously thinks I am some sort of low-class slut mother, perhaps one who was smoking crack and lit the place up, or who kept dead cats behind the refrigerator; so, we'll give her what she expects. We're all going to get a case of cheap beer and go drink it in front of her condo. Throw the cans over our shoulders, holler at each other. "Hey Pa, let's blow us up somepin else! Hoo-eeeee, weren't that somethin, way that place lit up! We got any more of them dead cats? Give that there littlun 'nother beer!"

But I felt much better, laughing so hard over dinner we almost choked (easy to do on that possum, you know). David got out the electric guitar and Older Daughter got out her flute and as I wrote this they were jamming away on "Wild Thing." So now I'm getting taller again. To hell with the Marges of the world; crack-smokin' slut mommas will PREVAIL.

�

previous - next

�