Love Thy Neighbor? I Don't Think So
I’ve been trying lately to be nicer to people. It sounds simple enough, but sometimes the human race really pisses me off. Overall though I think I’ve been doing a better job of at least trying to be more polite to society and the community as a whole. Hey, I’m trying...
But there’s one person in this world who has used up my RDA of kindheartedness.
His name is...well, his name is irrelevant, because he will forever be known in the Gressel household as Bubba Gump.
This is the same Bubba who leaves his Christmas decorations up until May 1st every year. Believe me – it’s really, really sad to see a plastic Santa in his yard when it’s 90 degrees out.
This is the same Bubba who mows his lawn at 10:00 PM, using his jerry-rigged, semi-homemade, louder-than-hell lawn mower. The only nice part of this is that he’ll only mow once a month, so while the grass may be up to his knees, we don’t have to hear it that often.
This is the same Bubba whose idea of obedience training for his Jack Russell terrier is to open the sliding door and yell "Shut up!" after the poor thing has been barking for hours on end.
This is the same Bubba who has 6 vehicles, including a motor home, yet only 2 of them actually run for sure (and one of them just barely). He’s got crap cars parked up and down the street, a Winnebego parked on his lawn that didn’t move this year, and a piece of shit Toyota that he has to overcrank the accelerator on every morning to start.
So as you can tell, Bubba is a real winner.
But last night he punched my last button.
And I went off.
It was 10:30 PM, and Bubba is in his garage, with the garage door wide open. And he’s running a power saw.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
This being Bubba, it’s not a fine-tuned piece of machinery. Nope – it’s noisy, grinding, and sounds like the blade hasn’t been sharpened since the Reagan administration.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
The Lovely Mrs. G. and I listened to this for a long time, hoping that he’d have even an ounce of decency and consideration for his neighbors, as the sound of his rusty saw echoed throughout the neighborhood.
Nope. They say you need to have an IQ higher than a pot holder to have a sense of moral respect for others. Obviously Bubba gets an F- in this category, too.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
I finally had enough. I pulled on my sweatshirt and stormed out the front door for a little man-to-imbecile chat.
I marched across the street, where Bubba was once again sawing away at something. I yell “Hey!”, but he can’t hear me over the noise. So I stand there in his driveway, waiting for him to shut the damn thing off. It’s cold, it’s late, I’m standing outside in my PJs, and I’m getting more and more pissed by the second.
Finally he turns it off, and I bellow at him (scared him, I think.) “HEY! It’s 10:30! Give us a break, will ya?”
Bubba looks up. “Huh? It’s whu...?”
I said it again. “IT’S 10:30!!!”
It’s slowly starting to dawn on Dumbass Gump why the guy from across the street is standing there yelling at him. “Oh,” he says. “I guess I’ll give you a break.”
Gee, thanks a friggin’ lot, you inconsiderate louse.
Actually, I didn’t say that, but I did loudly use the Lord’s name in vain as I stomped back home. (For which I am truly sorry – it isn’t God’s fault that His creation is a stupid bastard.)
To his credit, Bubba did stop sawing for the night. But I suspect that he’ll be right back at it tonight, making enough noise to set my nerves on “strangle” again.
But tonight I have a secret weapon. You see, I looked up Sioux City’s noise ordinance. And it turns out that any noise after 10:00 PM is a criminal offense in this town where there’s very little “real” crime, so cops love to write tickets for even petty things. And while I’m telling the nice police dispatcher about Bubba and his noisy saw, I’ll also mention all of his cars that don’t run.
And it’s a damn shame that having a plastic snowman on your roof past January 1 isn’t illegal, too. But I’m writing a letter to my Congressman today...
But there’s one person in this world who has used up my RDA of kindheartedness.
His name is...well, his name is irrelevant, because he will forever be known in the Gressel household as Bubba Gump.
This is the same Bubba who leaves his Christmas decorations up until May 1st every year. Believe me – it’s really, really sad to see a plastic Santa in his yard when it’s 90 degrees out.
This is the same Bubba who mows his lawn at 10:00 PM, using his jerry-rigged, semi-homemade, louder-than-hell lawn mower. The only nice part of this is that he’ll only mow once a month, so while the grass may be up to his knees, we don’t have to hear it that often.
This is the same Bubba whose idea of obedience training for his Jack Russell terrier is to open the sliding door and yell "Shut up!" after the poor thing has been barking for hours on end.
This is the same Bubba who has 6 vehicles, including a motor home, yet only 2 of them actually run for sure (and one of them just barely). He’s got crap cars parked up and down the street, a Winnebego parked on his lawn that didn’t move this year, and a piece of shit Toyota that he has to overcrank the accelerator on every morning to start.
So as you can tell, Bubba is a real winner.
But last night he punched my last button.
And I went off.
It was 10:30 PM, and Bubba is in his garage, with the garage door wide open. And he’s running a power saw.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
This being Bubba, it’s not a fine-tuned piece of machinery. Nope – it’s noisy, grinding, and sounds like the blade hasn’t been sharpened since the Reagan administration.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
The Lovely Mrs. G. and I listened to this for a long time, hoping that he’d have even an ounce of decency and consideration for his neighbors, as the sound of his rusty saw echoed throughout the neighborhood.
Nope. They say you need to have an IQ higher than a pot holder to have a sense of moral respect for others. Obviously Bubba gets an F- in this category, too.
WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
I finally had enough. I pulled on my sweatshirt and stormed out the front door for a little man-to-imbecile chat.
I marched across the street, where Bubba was once again sawing away at something. I yell “Hey!”, but he can’t hear me over the noise. So I stand there in his driveway, waiting for him to shut the damn thing off. It’s cold, it’s late, I’m standing outside in my PJs, and I’m getting more and more pissed by the second.
Finally he turns it off, and I bellow at him (scared him, I think.) “HEY! It’s 10:30! Give us a break, will ya?”
Bubba looks up. “Huh? It’s whu...?”
I said it again. “IT’S 10:30!!!”
It’s slowly starting to dawn on Dumbass Gump why the guy from across the street is standing there yelling at him. “Oh,” he says. “I guess I’ll give you a break.”
Gee, thanks a friggin’ lot, you inconsiderate louse.
Actually, I didn’t say that, but I did loudly use the Lord’s name in vain as I stomped back home. (For which I am truly sorry – it isn’t God’s fault that His creation is a stupid bastard.)
To his credit, Bubba did stop sawing for the night. But I suspect that he’ll be right back at it tonight, making enough noise to set my nerves on “strangle” again.
But tonight I have a secret weapon. You see, I looked up Sioux City’s noise ordinance. And it turns out that any noise after 10:00 PM is a criminal offense in this town where there’s very little “real” crime, so cops love to write tickets for even petty things. And while I’m telling the nice police dispatcher about Bubba and his noisy saw, I’ll also mention all of his cars that don’t run.
And it’s a damn shame that having a plastic snowman on your roof past January 1 isn’t illegal, too. But I’m writing a letter to my Congressman today...
posted by Tommy G at
1:26 PM
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