Oh, Stoner Kid from Next Door, that’s lovely of you but, no. It’s 11 o’clock on a Sunday night. I would very much like it if you got the hell off my front step.
Stoner Kid has appeared on our doorstep on more than one occasion with a joint in his mouth wanting to chat and jam with us, usually quite late on a week night. Stoner Kid has also stuck his head over the fence to have awkward pot fuelled conversations with us regarding such subjects as why small boy dog “looks mental” and his upcoming trip to Vanuatu with his mother.
Stoner Kid from Next Door likes to play the drums in the early hours of the morning from his garage. He likes to smoke bongs and then throw the bongs over the fence into our yard. I don’t like this at all.
Stoner kid constructed a hot box in his back yard behind the garage against our fence, out of sight from his parents. Apparently, this was not a sufficient hangout space since recently he has moved into a caravan in the driveway. This caravan is parked directly opposite our bedroom and our front door, approximately 4 feet away in fact. Stoner Kid and Stoner Kids friends like to play drums in the caravan in the early hours of the morning. They like to play guitar and have parties and smoke bongs. I like this less than I like the garage antics.
They have also erected a shade gazebo in front of the caravan to hang out in front of before they sleep in the caravan.
While this is amusing on some level, it’s mostly just annoying. Since Husband and I are real people with real jobs that need to function like adults in the world, this is bothersome to us.
Husband and I wondered if he was allowed to live in the shared driveway so very close to us, so Husband asked the council if this was permitted.
The council did not know, so had to come and stare at the caravan in order to make a decision.
According to Stoner Kids mum (henceforth known as Shouting Woman) this is a grave crime. Apparently, we are not allowed to ask questions of the council. She decided to inform me of this one afternoon.
There was an energetic knocking on my door punctuated by some robust doorbell ringing.
I opened the door to a short, angry, profoundly peroxided woman. Unsurprisingly to you, dear reader, she was in fact Shouting Woman, the mother of Stoner Kid. She introduced herself and demanded to speak with me. I was not completely enamoured of this idea, since I had been about to get in the shower and had only thrown on a very long shirt. I always feel more comfortable being yelled at when I’m wearing a bra and some underwear. Call me crazy, but I do.
She proceeded to berate me for making an enquiry to the council in regards to the Stoner Van.
I was a bad neighbour. A bad, unfriendly neighbour. Lady… Last time I checked this wasn’t Ramsay Street.
Apparently Stoner Kid needs to live in the caravan. Not wants to, needs to. Why, you may ask? And you may, because I certainly did. Apparently, his bedroom has no windows. They’ve been living in a house for 7 years with a bedroom that has no windows. He is apparently, also schizophrenic. Now, while I completely understand that this is in no way his fault, and is a terrible and debilitating disease, I would like to suggest that the first step on the road to mental health is, oh, I don’t know, GETTING OFF THE FUCKING DRUGS, and is perhaps not moving into a caravan in the driveway.
Shouting Woman was true to her name and shouted a lot at me. She shouted that we were bad people. We were old before our time, stick in the mud bad people and if we didn’t withdraw our question to the council they would have to move. Apparently Shouting Lady was a comedian and was on tour a lot which is why we had not met her on any of the occasions Stoner Kid came visiting. I was hesitant to believe this claim as she clearly wasn’t very funny. She made lots of other claims that I also found hard to believe. She said that they were quiet neighbours who never made noise and never created problems.
I would beg to differ. I brought up the fact that Stoner Kid frequently has parties on Friday and Saturday nights that go on into the wee hours and never once had we made a noise complaint. The fact that they can’t put up like Christmas lights like everyone else, but have to put on a full on Poison-esque light display show for 2 months that never gets switched off, and shines directly into all of the windows in our house is apparently a “quiet neighbour” activity. Honestly, I expected Brett Michaels to appear on the roof last year instead of Santa. The fact that they leave all their blinds open all the time and stand in front of the windows staring at me while I wash up is apparently a friendly gesture and isn’t creepy at all. Not even when they’re apparently naked.
I mentioned that Stoner Kid frequently played his drums until 2 or 3 in the morning on week nights also. He similarly came over and knocked on the door wanting to chat when we were already asnooze in our beds.
The previous weekend, I had woken up on Sunday morning with a thumping hangover, as I tend to do. It took me a little while to work out that not all of the thumping was coming from my head, but some of it was coming from the drum kit set up next door.
I mentioned this to Shouting Woman when she said that I couldn’t possibly have heard drumming as Stoner Kid had left his drums in the forest.
Firstly, what? How in the name of all that is good and holy do you leave an entire drum kit in a forest? And secondly, no, I’m pretty sure I know what drums sound like.
She then told me that it was not Stoner Kids drums I had heard but the drums of one of the homeless kids currently also living in the caravan.
Apparently Stoner Kid has Stoner Homeless Kid friends that are now all living 4 feet from my bedroom. They also all play drums.
Fantastic.
This is where I tell Shouting Woman that she will need to leave now and stop shouting at me and calling me names because I have better things to do, like shove bamboo slivers under my nails.
Shouting Woman has come over to our house a lot since then. Banging on the door, demanding to talk to us. Writing us letters to tell us how mean we are… She’s shouted over the fence to Husband numerous times as he’s been working in the garage. Once to tell him that if he didn’t withdraw the question to the council, she would complain about small boy dog, and small girl dog, then adding “It would be a shame if something happened to them.” She’s told us that we’re boring, that we don’t appreciate music, that we have no sense of fun. She’s told Husband that he’s a sad old man. As he’s at least 40 years younger than her, it’s kind of funny. Maybe she could be a comedian after all.
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