What’s Up with My Neighborhood, or Pearl Loses Her Cool

Friday’s back, and as we seem none the worse for the wear of the week, why not blunder blithely into the golden-hued expanse of time at the end of it?

Around these parts, we call it “the weekend”.

Oh, but if only there were some way of finding out what we could expect!

But wait! There is!

It’s my iPod! The dulcet tones of this morning’s commute have the following to say about what lies ahead:

Sunny Side of the Street by The Pogues
The Wizard by Black Sabbath
60 Feet Tall by The Dead Weather
Never There by Cake
The Puzzle by Brother Ali
Los Angeles by Frank Black
Top Yourself by The Raconteurs

Wheeeeeeeeee! Any weekend that starts with The Pogues is likely one to be worth writing about.

Let’s see now. We’ve been amusing ourselves the last five or so weeks with the tales of the Jefferson Hillbillies, a motley group of State-assisted renters down the block whose brief foray into my and my neighbors’ lives has been commemorated in both verse and song (witness the ever-popular fireside sing-along known locally as “Them Local Folk-als Appear to be Yokels, or Square-Headed Terry’s Got Yer Ma”).

Today’s tale of deception and droopy pants?

I’m Telling On You!

When we first met the Jefferson Hillbillies (not their real name), they had just moved in, a collection of mattresses and over-sized TVs, a family who quickly set up a ping-pong table on the sidewalk and a makeshift bar (AKA a “cooler”) in the front yard.

From there, we learned of the eldest son’s entrepreneurial spirit, his willingness to ask for your help and/or your cash, his venture into the high-stakes world of the illicit drug trade, and his incursion into the egg-hurling sports.

Boris, as we came to refer to him, had become the turd in the Northeast Minneapolis punchbowl.

I’d had enough.

There are websites, if you know where to look, that will tell you who owns rental property. I know this because I myself own some rental property. In short order, I’d found his landlords.

Dear Mr. Tranh and Associates,

It may come as some surprise to you to find that the people you have rented to at XXXX Jefferson Street have undone much of your hard work.

The new sod you put in at the beginning of the summer? A memory. It is now dirt, the only remaining grass being under the couch that has been in the front yard since June.

The new cement steps leading up to the porch? If we can judge by the evidence before us, it appears a 30-gallon keg was dropped on it, taking out a good-sized chunk. The keg’s dropping, however, does not appear to have affected the keg itself, which is still laying in the front yard.

I recall you adding a new screen door to the front of the house in May. It’s no longer there. Makes you wonder what happened to it.

The neighborhood has been inundated with requests from your tenants for money, rides to the store, and inquiries regarding our desire to “score some green”. I am sure that this is not what Tranh and Associates had intended when this property was rented out, but that is what you’ve got.

This is a good neighborhood. I would hate to have to go door-to-door to let my neighbors know your name and address, as I am sure that both your house’s value as well as ours is important to you.

Please contact me at the number listed below as soon as you can. I believe we can work through this amicably.

Hugs and Kisses,

Pearl

I received a call from Mr. Tranh less than a week later, who promptly fired his “rental management company” and started eviction proceedings.

I love a man of action.

I couldn’t wait to see the move-out party.


Have a good weekend, everyone. I’ll be here tomorrow as well!