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Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Part VII and The End: I Shall Miss You, Square-Headed Reprobates


We’ve spent the past several days getting to know the family that moved into my neighborhood, a square-headed lot attuned to the ways of front-yard hootin’ and hollerin’. We’ve grown to appreciate their ability to sprint whilst shouldering two of the largest stereo speakers left in existence. We’ve marveled at both their ability to ask for help and the frequency with which they do it and a displayed prowess in the egg-hurling sports. We’ve stood in wonder over the get-‘er-done entrepreneurial spirit of a foray into parking-lot drug distribution, and we’ve seen me break down and contact their landlords in an attempt to rid the neighborhood of them once and for all.

Today's episode?

And Now, I Have a Cretin-Shaped Hole in My Heart
I would like to report that the day that brought the moving out of the curiously squat and box-headed folk down the street was a raucous adventure of questionable folk from Minneapolis' seedy underbelly, that various pick-ups and oxen-led carts showed up to help them load up and take away the four large-screen TVs, the ping pong table and the seemingly dozens of mattresses that I witnessed them move in to the duplex just four houses down.

But I cannot.

They left in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but tire tracks in the front yard, a large piece of furniture that may have doubled as some sort of sacrificial slab, a broken cooler, and two horrifyingly stained king-sized mattresses.

They left these items on the boulevard in front of their house.

Oddly enough, Minneapolis' garbage haul-away policy is amazingly liberal; and all of these items could've been taken off the neighborhood's hands by simply leaving them in the alley with a note that says "Please Take".

And as enticing as a game of "What does that stain look like to you?" originally seemed, I tired of the view of their household scabs almost immediately, and called 311 (the number to the city) on the second day.

"I'd like to report a large pile of crap, please."

The woman on the other end chuckled. "Can you describe the crap, ma'am?"

I could, and I did.

"Do you have the address of said crap?"

"Well, it's four down from my house, but the house numbers seem to run by both fours and twos on my street, so I'm not sure of it right now. I can walk down there if you like."

"Let's start with your address and go from there," she said.

In minutes, she had Google Maps pulled up, had found my house and had counted down four houses.

"Is it the house with the lamp post in front of it?" she asked.

"What?" I said. "You can see that?"

"Google Maps is a wonderful thing," she said.

I had been unaware of this street-level feature. "I'm stepping outside," I said. "Can you see me? I’m waving."

She laughed politely, as one does at the clueless. "Ma'am, it's a satellite image."

There was a slight pause as I listened to her type.

"We'll have someone out to pick it up tomorrow."

"Really? Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that," she said. "Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"No, ma'am," I said. "That's plenty."

True to her word, the City of Minneapolis hauled away the residuals of the Jefferson Hillbillies’ brief stay with us, and so it is here that our tale of inner-city excitement ends.

They came, they saw, they littered.

And now they're someone else's problem.

34 comments:

Green Girl in Wisconsin said...

I kind of love you for going outside to wave at her.
And no, after all that drama, "Guess That Stain" wouldn't hold much appeal for me, either.

Pearl said...

Green Girl, I don't know what I was thinking... :-)

savannah said...

gotta love city sanitation departments, sweet girl! ;) (and still LOL over, "can you see me?")
xoxoxoxox

esbboston said...

When she says she can see the lamppost, I think she mean she can see the shadow of the lamppost. I have a lot of windmiLLs in my part of the world and their shadows are veRy distinct and larger than the original object. Shadows are veRy useful when wandering in Google Earth.

Pearl said...

savannah, Minneapolis is wonderful that way!

esb, whatever she saw, I guess it wasn't me waving. :-)

Shelly said...

I think I sense the velvety paw of Liza Bean Bitey in this matter of the disappearing hillbillies. It pays to know people (cats) in high places.

joeh said...

They may be gone from your neighborhood, but I have a hunch we are all paying for their existence somewhere.

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

Like I said before...I wonder how many times a year they have to move? Surely there is a neighbourhood for them somewhere....somewhere east of nowhere and south of hell.

Pearl said...

Shelly, she claims ignorance, but anyone who knows Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) knows that she's ignorant of nothing...

joeh, I've no doubt of it!

Delores, they've moved on, and I've not seen them since. But they're somewhere, no doubt punching a hole in a wall or stuffing canned goods from a supermarket shelf into their sleeves...

bill lisleman said...

thanks a bunch Pearl now I need to ask a certain neighbor if they moved from MN. The type that goes along with the often heard phrase "we you born in a barn". Maybe just their dogs are from MN. because the dogs are the most unruly members of the group.

Pearl said...

bill, Minnesota is not known for its general unruliness, but who knows?! :-)

SparkleFarkel said...

This 311 service, does it offer a deadbeat husband pick-up? Where do I dial?

Dawn @Lighten Up! said...

They came, they saw, they littered, they stole, they begged, they defaced, they committed felonies - and they defiled a perfectly good mattress - and they pestered my Pearl.
Good riddance, cretins.

Eva Gallant said...

There had to be a little corner of your heart that was sorry to lose such abundant blog fodder!

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
Yahayyy! That telephone call WAS the going away party - what service to round it all off with.

Congrats on one your larger trash removal projects. &>

The Geezers said...

Funny, funny post. I've had some neighbors like this, too, thought thankfully not recently in the SW neighborhood we're now at.

Thanks for stopping by our place this morning. Good to connect again.

Daisy said...

I hope the stained mattresses doesn't mean that they are reproducing!

Your city-hall folk are real nice.

jenny_o said...

What a letdown that there wasn't more of a show when they moved.

No, letdown is the wrong word, seeing as they are GONE. Maybe 'miniscule twinge of regret over loss of writing inspiration', but not letdown :)

sage said...

A good ending, unless of course they come back to haunt you.

Mitchell is Moving said...

Well doggies! So happy you're rid of them.

(And I'm glad the nice lady didn't send another kind of truck for YOU.)

Susan Kane said...

I pity the poor neighbors who have inherited 'em.

Did you cull through the left-behinds for any coins or misc. food scraps?

Glen said...

I once heard a story of a man who needed to get rid of an old knackered fridge.

He couldn't take it to his local dump so he phoned the council and they said they would collect it Tuesday if left outside his house.

They didn't turn up and two weeks and 8 phone calls later they still hadn't arrived and the fridge was still sat outside his house.

So the man put a sign on the fridge saying "For Sale - £30 - inquire within"

one hour later it had been stolen.

Your council refuse folk are somewhat better than his was (if he exists) though your neighbours sound the same...

Starting Over, Accepting Changes - Maybe said...

The expression "Good riddance to bad rubbish" comes to mind.

The Savage said...

Hurray!

goatman said...

Neat story, nicely told.

Wonder where they went, and what they did in there?
Thanks for the howdy . . .

Bodacious Boomer said...

ooh, nothing makes you smile like seeing a stained mattress.:)

Al Penwasser said...

Well, you know what they say about people with square heads, don't you?
Square hats.
No, I really don't know what that means, either.

HermanTurnip said...

Lemme tells ya, Google maps + noise complaint = instant officer intervention. Love me my Google maps! :-)

Geo. said...

I'm always more horrified by departing mattresses it looks like somebody's fought their way out of.

Rose L said...

I am glad their "droppings" were cleaned up. I never knew you could call 911 for that!
I am surprised you had not seen Google Earth! Go on and see how your place looks!

River said...

Don't you hate when they sneak out while you're sleeping? No goodbye, nothing.
I hope the new tenants are much more acceptable.
On the other hand, I hope they too give you something to write about.

The Elephant's Child said...

I suspect that you are a little warm around the nether regions (liar, liar pants on fire). Tell the truth -you miss them the way you miss root canal therapy.

Tempo said...

Maybe you could have called the city a few weeks earlier and had the whole family taken away with said crap?

Daisy said...

Goodbye and good riddance to them. Google maps scare me a little.