From 2008... Enjoy!
People – no, I can’t say who, just people – think that Minnesotans are passive-aggressive.
I don’t think of us that way. I prefer to think of us as conflict–avoidant.
For instance, if you show up at my house wearing, in all sincerity, say, lederhosen, my response would be, “That’s interesting.”
Because it is. That’s interesting. Eventually, of course, I will have to ask you what moved you to make such a fashion choice, but in that respect I am not a typical Minnesotan. Nor, it seems, am I particularly polite.
Actually, to quote a favorite aunt, I am “Miss Tact”. (Implying, of course, that I have none.)
A number of years ago, before marriage put an end to my wild ways, I lived in another part of town, across the street and two down from a man who worked a terribly early shift.
How did I know he worked a terribly early shift?
Because there came a week where he apparently needed a ride, and a car would pull up at 4:25 in the morning, music bursting from its speakers at decibels normally ascribed to pneumatic riveters…
It was summer, my bedroom windows were open, and my initial encounter with this car caused my heart to leap into my throat as I sat straight up in terror. Tornado! Air raid! Fire!
It was none of those things, of course. I soon recognized the cause of my panic as the dulcet tones of AC/DC.
I didn’t fall back to sleep.
And for the first two days that Mr. Rock and Roll arrived to pick up my neighbor, I bit my tongue. Inside my head, of course, I was feverishly composing outraged letters to him about the loss of civility in the city and how much I hated him. On the outside, however, I remained collected.
I may or may not have muttered colorful threats under my breath. There are, after all, no witnesses to dispute this.
On the third day, however, the moment I heard “Hell’s Bells” being blasted throughout the neighborhood, I lost my cool. Shoving my head violently out of my bedroom window, I screeched at the top of my early-morning lungs, “THIS IS A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD! SHUT UP!”
He did not hear me, of course, because not only was the music far too loud, but I could now see that the driver was not in the car.
Hmmm.
On the fourth day, when the rock-concert on wheels pulled up, I was fully dressed and ready. I watched from my window as he got out of the car and went inside.
The moment my neighbor’s front door closed, I shot out my own door as fast as my short little legs could carry me. Engine running, music blaring, I hopped into his car and tore away…
And I left it, three blocks away. Turned it off, left the keys in the ignition, and took an alternative way home.
I didn’t fall back to sleep on that day, either, but I smiled for the rest of it.
Two questions still bother me, though:
1. Do you think I over-reacted?
2. How long do you suppose it took him to find his car?
People – no, I can’t say who, just people – think that Minnesotans are passive-aggressive.
I don’t think of us that way. I prefer to think of us as conflict–avoidant.
For instance, if you show up at my house wearing, in all sincerity, say, lederhosen, my response would be, “That’s interesting.”
Because it is. That’s interesting. Eventually, of course, I will have to ask you what moved you to make such a fashion choice, but in that respect I am not a typical Minnesotan. Nor, it seems, am I particularly polite.
Actually, to quote a favorite aunt, I am “Miss Tact”. (Implying, of course, that I have none.)
A number of years ago, before marriage put an end to my wild ways, I lived in another part of town, across the street and two down from a man who worked a terribly early shift.
How did I know he worked a terribly early shift?
Because there came a week where he apparently needed a ride, and a car would pull up at 4:25 in the morning, music bursting from its speakers at decibels normally ascribed to pneumatic riveters…
It was summer, my bedroom windows were open, and my initial encounter with this car caused my heart to leap into my throat as I sat straight up in terror. Tornado! Air raid! Fire!
It was none of those things, of course. I soon recognized the cause of my panic as the dulcet tones of AC/DC.
I didn’t fall back to sleep.
And for the first two days that Mr. Rock and Roll arrived to pick up my neighbor, I bit my tongue. Inside my head, of course, I was feverishly composing outraged letters to him about the loss of civility in the city and how much I hated him. On the outside, however, I remained collected.
I may or may not have muttered colorful threats under my breath. There are, after all, no witnesses to dispute this.
On the third day, however, the moment I heard “Hell’s Bells” being blasted throughout the neighborhood, I lost my cool. Shoving my head violently out of my bedroom window, I screeched at the top of my early-morning lungs, “THIS IS A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD! SHUT UP!”
He did not hear me, of course, because not only was the music far too loud, but I could now see that the driver was not in the car.
Hmmm.
On the fourth day, when the rock-concert on wheels pulled up, I was fully dressed and ready. I watched from my window as he got out of the car and went inside.
The moment my neighbor’s front door closed, I shot out my own door as fast as my short little legs could carry me. Engine running, music blaring, I hopped into his car and tore away…
And I left it, three blocks away. Turned it off, left the keys in the ignition, and took an alternative way home.
I didn’t fall back to sleep on that day, either, but I smiled for the rest of it.
Two questions still bother me, though:
1. Do you think I over-reacted?
2. How long do you suppose it took him to find his car?
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23 comments:
Yes, but well done!
Brilliant!
Love it! Not an over reaction, a carefully planned pay back!
But did he learn his lesson???? You didn't tell us that.
Bwahahahaha! Pearl you crack me up. :-)
Did you worry about the fingerprints?
Don't worry, even felonies like automobile theft probably have a statute of limitations. Hell, that's why I waited so long to start blogging.
I see we have some weather headed our way, next week the temps are forecasted to be around zero.
Like Delores, I want to know did he learn his lesson? And did you misplace his AC/DC cassette/cd?
Never, never tile up a Midwestern girl!
Rile up I meant
Payback. Soooo sweet! And quiet . . .
Fantastic! I wish I had your b . ., er, courage.
Smiled like the Cheshire Cat, I bet. (1) No (2) He's probably still looking. After all, you turned off his homing beacon.
Re."Two questions"
1. It's impossible to over-react to a problem that can't be exaggerated.
2. Not long. He probably just followed the line of cheering neighbors.
Hari Om
...define over-react again... and does it matter???
What's important here is you made us laugh again. That matters. YAM xx
Next time, if there is a next time and I hope there isn't... Anyway, next time try sticking a potato in the tail pipe.
Not that I've actually done it myself, of course. =D
I want you on my side.
I think you should have done something to his speakers so that he would have learned his lesson (it was about the radio blaring, not about leaving his keys in the vehicle). At least you're a creative felon.
I get a lot of music this way - thanks for the idea! Even if I can't run out and "fix" the noise, I can smile while thinking of you doing it Pearl!
I also thought of you when I saw this video called: "The Bus"
http://youtu.be/75F3CSZcCFs
You did good
You go girl! When my children were small we were camping next to that same kind of dude and his buddies. When they went down to
the river, I went to their van and ripped out the speaker wire. Oh yes, I was pushed to the edge. I get where you're coming from.
Magnificent! Over-reaction? Not in the least. There should be someone like you in every neighborhood, willing to take the action needed.
I'm a Minnesotan, so I really can't judge "over-reaction." Let me just say many of us wish we'd done the same.
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