So, You’ve Got Crazy Neighbors, Huh? Part One

It’s finally summer!!!  Woohoo!!!! 

Just had to get that out of my system.  School is out as of today, which means I’ll be unemployed (a bum) for the next 2 months or so.  Sounds good in theory (sleeping late, staying up late, catching up on recorded t.v. shows, etc.), but I know it’s going to be hard not seeing my work friends every day, not to mention the lack of fundage. 

I was thinking last night about what I could write about next.  I thought maybe I could write about my mother and her random crazy accusations.  Nah, not this time.  I thought maybe  I could write about the 4 crazy bitches at work who have it in for me.  Nah, not this time.  Then, Honeywine called me and something was said about her ex-neighbor, who we called HoBag, because, well, she was.  Eureeka!!!  I’ll tell you guys about all the crazy neighbors I’ve had over the years in military housing.  Trust me, ain’t no crazy neighbors like military housing neighbors.

Part One – Mr. Goodwrench is a bastard.               

I guess I’ll start at the beginning of my illustrious Army wife career.  I was 18 years old, had a baby, and my (now ex) husband was a 20-year-old private first class (on the ranking scale, that’s only 2nd from the lowest rank).  We were young, in love, and very, very, very naive. 

We had just arrived at Fort Benning, GA, and were given the keys to an ancient townhouse-style apartment with a huge kitchen, three bedrooms, and a narrow backyard.  We had our own place!  Nevermind that we didn’t have anything other than bedroom furniture and a TV.  We were really grown-ups now!  We would play hide and seek and tag with our son.  There was even one time when he was about 3 that we were all chasing each other through the kitchen and living room (it was kind of a big rectangle) and Big J ran into the cabinets without even slowing down.  He fell on his butt, looked up at us and laughed.  Man, those were good times.  I’m getting off track here.  Ahem.

Our apartment was smack dab in the middle of the row of apartments, so we had neighbors on both sides.  To the left, we had Little Miss Perfect Army Wife.  She had 3 small kids, stayed home, and her yard was spectacular.  I couldn’t care less that all I had was grass in my yard.  This story’s not about her, though.  It’s about Mr. Goodwrench.

Mr. Goodwrench seemed like a nice enough guy.  Sometimes he played music loud, but hey, who doesn’t sometimes?  For the most part, he kept to himself, which is how I like my neighbors.  He was always outside working on his old car.  We had just bought a new car (that we couldn’t really afford), so our old Jeep was parked on the street since we only had one assigned parking space.  One night I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when I heard a loud bang.  I thought it was odd, but we sometimes heard booms and stuff from the range, so I didn’t worry about it.  Then there was a knock at the door.  I looked through the peephole (hey, I don’t want to get raped!) and saw Mr. Goodwrench standing there.  I opened the door, and here is the exchange we had:

MG:  Good evening, ma’am.  Is your husband home?

Me:  Um, he’s gone to bed already.  What’s up?

MG:  I think you should get your husband to come down.

Me:  Why?

MG:  My daughter just hit your jeep.  (His daughter was about 3)

Me:  (Thinking he meant with a toy or something) I’m sure it’s fine.  I’ll come out and look at it.

MG:  Okay.

 

When I got out to the Jeep, I saw that the bumper had moved down about 6 inches on one side.  He had left his 3-year-old daughter outside in the car while he went in the apartment to grab a tool or something.  The car was running, and she was able to put it into gear and clip our car before he stopped it.  Oh yeah, that just happened.

So, I of course ran upstairs and made Douche come out and deal with it.  His way of dealing with it was telling the guy that if he’d fix it, we wouldn’t file a report or anything and no one’s insurance company would have to be called.  Needless to say, it never got fixed, and that bumper was still like that the day we traded it in.  You’d think we’d have learned.

Stay tuned for part two!

 

 

5 Responses to “So, You’ve Got Crazy Neighbors, Huh? Part One”


  1. 1 honeywine June 1, 2008 at 6:00 pm

    3 yr olds allowed to drive? I’ve seen far worse on Army bases! lol

  2. 2 KC June 3, 2008 at 11:33 am

    Lesson learned: Only accept repair in the form of cold, hard cash.

  3. 3 gingermagnolia June 3, 2008 at 6:51 pm

    Honey – I know you have, you definitely need to tell your stories one of these days.

    KC – Yeah, ain’t it the truth? He wasn’t even the worst one, just the one who did the most damage.

  4. 4 Bekki June 13, 2008 at 10:38 am

    This story would’ve been awesome if the 3 year old was drinking and/or high on crystal meth and stacker 2!


  1. 1 One Last Neighbor Nightmare « Names Have Been Changed….. Trackback on September 20, 2008 at 7:20 am

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