The new owners closed on the house close to me a couple of days ago. He’s a medical student, so hopefully, he will be quiet at least some of the time while his professors keep his nose to the grindstone. I guess the price to pay for that will be that if you work hard, you play hard. We’ll see. Fingers are crossed and a new voodoo doll is still in its wrapper.
After one year of domestic bliss, the first tenants of the dumbass that repaired the house moved on and gathered as many of their treasures as possible, in search of their next victims.
They left behind a defunct truck and quite a bit of their belongings. The landlord came and piled everything that was left behind into the bed of their truck, a la Sanford & Son. I felt both in awe and disgusted looking at the truck parked on the street with garbage piled a good 10 feet high in the bed of the truck. After a threat to have it towed, the former tenants hired a tow truck to reclaim it. I’ll never forget the expression on the tow truck driver’s face. He said the same thing I said, “It’s like something out of Sanford & Son.” He threw all of the belongings/garbage onto the grass between the sidewalk and curb and took off with the truck to parts unknown.
The next tenants seemed like a step up. It was an elderly couple from Canada, a couple of architects. It was bizarre, though, because once they moved in, they were there all day, every day. Things seemed fine for a while until I came to realize they were never going to put up curtains on their 30 windows. This wouldn’t be a problem except for their love of underwear…only underwear.
Why is it that the people that you want to least see nekkid or in their tidy whiteys are the people that are most comfortable promenading around on display for the whole world to see? There is nothing attractive about elderly Canadians with nothing on but undies and an open robe, and I mean untied open, air out all of my junk kinda open. That is the only time I’ve thought the world needed two more Snuggies.
Sadly, it turns out that both lost their jobs when they moved into their new apartment. Without kids and being two professionals, they seemed to have saved up enough money to float for a while until the man of the house got a new job. This allowed the missus to continue her all-day drinking and flashing while the man of the house brought home the Canadian bacon.
They filled some of their loneliness with a yappy little terrier. They would get so drunk and passed out that the little thing would yap and yap and yap without any attempts to play with her. If she had been a larger dog, it could have eaten them and neither would have given a struggle. Sorry, that was kinda gross.
Mail delivery was inconsistent and usually wouldn’t get to the mailboxes until well after dark. The mail delivery people would lose their grip when it came time to deliver to them. Too bad for them that the mailbox was on the second floor. It got to where they refused to get near the door and would violently chuck the mail from the sidewalk.
They would go to the door with a package or something requiring a signature and when they would ring the doorbell, the couple, slouched on the sofa with their robes exposing their nasty parts would just stare at the mail person…I mean stare, would not move, would not come to the door, would just stare at them like they’re made of wax.
I know this because several times, when they would get to my house, if I happened to be outside, they would be so freaked out that they wouldn’t stop talking. They needed therapy and someone to talk them off of the ledge. The threat they faced on the job was not rabid dogs, it was drunk Canadian nudists without curtains.
Since I had the pleasure of two years with these dreamboats, I’ll break this up into two posts while I reflect on the good times. Btw, I actually love Canada as I have dear friends from there and currently living there.