Front Yard Hair Salon
Senor 23 and I were sitting in my room overlooking the busy street below. As usual, we had been drinking some beers in the early afternoon since neither one of us had anything else better to do. I opened one of the large bay windows to get some fresh air into the house and I was periodically sitting on the edge of the window frame to get a better view down the street.
Heavy footsteps erupted from the front porch. Someone got to the front door and really abused the mechanical bell. Senor 23 went down there to see who it was, he came back a minute later with an old friend I hadn't seen for some time. His name was Jason Blore. Jason dropped by to say hello and see what was going on at the B Street house since he was in the neighborhood, he said. That was cool. It really had been a long time since I last saw him. We offered him some beer and made small talk about what he had been up to lately. That was when I saw the meter maid coming down the other side of B Street towards us. Senor 23's car was parked directly across from the house and he didn't have much time left on the meter.
The meter maid was driving one of those stupid three wheeled carts that seem popular with most cities these days. As the henchman of evil-parking-oppression moved in near Senor 23's ride, I pointed out the window at it and asked him how much time he had left. Instead of answering me, he pushed past me, hopped out the second floor window, literally ran head first down the roof, and then jumped onto the roof of the hair salon in our front yard. He landed squarely on both feet and like a crazed maniac he slithered in between our roof and the edge of the hair salon's building to drop down on our front porch. I could hear him running down the porch to the gravel driveway and then like a shot from a gun he bolted across the street (without looking for oncoming traffic). He made it to the meter next to his parked car just as the servant of Satan pulled up in her three wheeled shit heap.
Jason and I were laughing hysterically at Senor 23. The meter maid saw him running out to the meter and put some change in it, so she must have been aggrivated at not being able to write a ticket. They live for that sort of thing you know. Because we were laughing so loudly the meter maid looked up at my window. Just as she did so Jason yelled at her, "Everybody hates meter maids!" At that outburst I really lost it and was laughing so hard I was on the verge of tears. The meter maid definetly heard Jason's insult and merely waved hello at us. Then things got ugly.
All of the women in the hair salon had come out of the portable building and had been standing in the middle of the street watching us. We hadn't noticed them. One of them yelled in her empty headed housewife voice, "Are you guys jumping on our roof?" I stopped laughing. Uh oh. I might be in trouble with the property manager again on this one. Shit. I didn't have much time to think of a good lie or a witty response so I did what any sensible guy would do. I yelled back "Nope." I could tell by the look on their faces my response was not the correct one. No matter. We had a poor relationship as neighbors anyway. The dingbats in the hair salon were always blocking our driveway with their cars, and they haven't forgotten about the flood damage my empty beer bottles caused. They couldn't prove anything though so we didn't have to pay for the water damage. Heh.
Jason took it upon himself to yell shit at the ladies in the street. Their faces turned red when he was through with them. We had just crossed a line and there was no turning back now. I was expecting a phone call from the property manager any minute. Shortly after the hairdresser idiots went back inside their hole, the phone did indeed ring. I told Jason to shut up for a minute and I took the call. On the other end of the line was a flustered sounding property manager. She told me she just received a complaint about someone jumping on the roof of the hair salon and that the hit to their roof was so strong that it caused their track lighting to break free from the ceiling mounts and drop down on it's wires about a foot and a half.
One of their customers at the time was an old woman and the sudden noise and commotion practically caused her a heart attack, she said. Oops. I gave her my best honest business guy voice and said, "Hmmm. That's unusual. I wonder what could have caused that. Well, if I find anything out I'll let you know, OK?" The property manager lady wasn't having any of it and started threatening me. If there were any further problems with the hair salon we would all find ourselves thrown out on the street, she said. Uhuh. Whatever. I knew she wasn't going to do anything about it. Over time I've discovered that our property manager really couldn't be bothered with this kind of petty junk and she's all bark, no bite. I listened to her lecture and then put the phone down after she was finished filling my ear with hate.
B Street wins round 2. Hair salon, 0.
Heavy footsteps erupted from the front porch. Someone got to the front door and really abused the mechanical bell. Senor 23 went down there to see who it was, he came back a minute later with an old friend I hadn't seen for some time. His name was Jason Blore. Jason dropped by to say hello and see what was going on at the B Street house since he was in the neighborhood, he said. That was cool. It really had been a long time since I last saw him. We offered him some beer and made small talk about what he had been up to lately. That was when I saw the meter maid coming down the other side of B Street towards us. Senor 23's car was parked directly across from the house and he didn't have much time left on the meter.
The meter maid was driving one of those stupid three wheeled carts that seem popular with most cities these days. As the henchman of evil-parking-oppression moved in near Senor 23's ride, I pointed out the window at it and asked him how much time he had left. Instead of answering me, he pushed past me, hopped out the second floor window, literally ran head first down the roof, and then jumped onto the roof of the hair salon in our front yard. He landed squarely on both feet and like a crazed maniac he slithered in between our roof and the edge of the hair salon's building to drop down on our front porch. I could hear him running down the porch to the gravel driveway and then like a shot from a gun he bolted across the street (without looking for oncoming traffic). He made it to the meter next to his parked car just as the servant of Satan pulled up in her three wheeled shit heap.
Jason and I were laughing hysterically at Senor 23. The meter maid saw him running out to the meter and put some change in it, so she must have been aggrivated at not being able to write a ticket. They live for that sort of thing you know. Because we were laughing so loudly the meter maid looked up at my window. Just as she did so Jason yelled at her, "Everybody hates meter maids!" At that outburst I really lost it and was laughing so hard I was on the verge of tears. The meter maid definetly heard Jason's insult and merely waved hello at us. Then things got ugly.
All of the women in the hair salon had come out of the portable building and had been standing in the middle of the street watching us. We hadn't noticed them. One of them yelled in her empty headed housewife voice, "Are you guys jumping on our roof?" I stopped laughing. Uh oh. I might be in trouble with the property manager again on this one. Shit. I didn't have much time to think of a good lie or a witty response so I did what any sensible guy would do. I yelled back "Nope." I could tell by the look on their faces my response was not the correct one. No matter. We had a poor relationship as neighbors anyway. The dingbats in the hair salon were always blocking our driveway with their cars, and they haven't forgotten about the flood damage my empty beer bottles caused. They couldn't prove anything though so we didn't have to pay for the water damage. Heh.
Jason took it upon himself to yell shit at the ladies in the street. Their faces turned red when he was through with them. We had just crossed a line and there was no turning back now. I was expecting a phone call from the property manager any minute. Shortly after the hairdresser idiots went back inside their hole, the phone did indeed ring. I told Jason to shut up for a minute and I took the call. On the other end of the line was a flustered sounding property manager. She told me she just received a complaint about someone jumping on the roof of the hair salon and that the hit to their roof was so strong that it caused their track lighting to break free from the ceiling mounts and drop down on it's wires about a foot and a half.
One of their customers at the time was an old woman and the sudden noise and commotion practically caused her a heart attack, she said. Oops. I gave her my best honest business guy voice and said, "Hmmm. That's unusual. I wonder what could have caused that. Well, if I find anything out I'll let you know, OK?" The property manager lady wasn't having any of it and started threatening me. If there were any further problems with the hair salon we would all find ourselves thrown out on the street, she said. Uhuh. Whatever. I knew she wasn't going to do anything about it. Over time I've discovered that our property manager really couldn't be bothered with this kind of petty junk and she's all bark, no bite. I listened to her lecture and then put the phone down after she was finished filling my ear with hate.
B Street wins round 2. Hair salon, 0.
posted by factory_peasant at 11:13 AM
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