Neighbors From Hell
Note: After a far-too-long hiatus this I’ve returned to this site. I’m going to be updating Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for the foreseeable future. Special editions when something really sets me off.
Dear Neighbors,
When I moved into this house I was really looking forward to the neighborhood. It was a quiet, middle class section of New Orleans. Low crime, good people, a few passable roads and a sense of city pride.
Before my wife and I plunked down well over $150,000 on the house, we did everything right. We checked the crime maps, looked at the flood elevations and, most importantly, shook hands with every single one of our future neighbors.
If I had known that two of you were going to turn out to be such craven douchebags I would have run away as fast as I could and gotten kept renting my life away where I was. Landlords suck, but bad neighbors suck worse.
No, you were able to fake being decent human beings for about five minutes and it was only after I signed the mortgage papers and moved in my stuff that your true colors showed. The result, now I’m stuck in purgatory with two sets of neighbors that even Satan himself wouldn’t want to live next to.
“Why?” You ask. Well, I’ll tell you why.
A Hot Night in New Orleans
Dear HiHo Lounge,
It was Friday night. I had some friends coming from out of town and I wanted to show them a good night out. I had heard that Clockwork Elvis and the Billion Dollar Baby Dolls Burlesque troupe were going to be on the same bill, performing at was one of my favorite clubs before Katrina. Yours.
It was going to be a night to remember, one of the best local bands playing a gig with one of our city’s best burlesque troupes (my wife and I are friends with at least three of the girls in the group) at one of the greatest music halls in the New Orleans area. I couldn’t wait.
When I first arrived there, everything was fine. We were about thirty minutes early, meaning we showed up when the band was supposed to take the stage, and the place was empty. But after standing around for a few moments, we noticed something, it was dead hot in there.
We brushed it aside though, got some drinks and took our place for the show. However, our decision to stay was one we’d quickly regret. As bodies packed into the room, thing went from uncomfortable, to dangerous.
Get Off My Damn Phone
Dear Cox Communications,
You called me on my hone phone today, we were off on the wrong foot already. My home phone is something of a backup, a handy tool for when the Sprint network takes a swan dive into the Mississippi River or my older relatives want to call without using the newfangled cellurar technology.
I never use it so, when it rang, it was a surprise. But then, when I found out it was you, it almost made sense. You run the phone line, along with my Internet, and its how you contact me when you have questions.
“Is this Mr. or Mrs. Blue?” a sweet female voice rang out from the other end.
“No, this is Mr. Black, I am her significant other and the gentleman of the household, how can I help you?”
The woman on the other end balked. Since my wife and I never did the whole marriage ceremony thing, we have different last names. It’s never been a big deal for us, but I still get some amusement watching morons trip over it like it’s a great sin.
“Are you authorized on the account?” she asked.
“Yes, yes I am,” I answered honestly, thinking that, as usual, you simply needed information or it was a stupid survey.
“Then sir, I have a special offer for you,” she responded.
I knew then I had screwed up.
How NOT to Hold a Job Interview
Dear Unnamed Local Fake College,
It was a week ago today that I got the call. You had received my application for employment and wanted to see me for an interview.
“Great news!” I thought. I had been looking for some part time, evening work to supplement my income and your position was one of the few available.
“The interview will be at 6:30 on the 25th,” said the man on the other line, his deep voice making it seem more like a spy mission than a job interview.
Now I’ve been on dozens of job interviews, but none began like this. I’ve spent hours of my life scheduling these things but never have I been given a “take it or leave it” time and place. Yet, the date and time were good, it was a Wednesday, the wife gets home early, no scheduling problems. I could make it easily.
I accepted.
Little did I know that your interview was going to literally fuck me out of two hours of my life and that you would showcase a level of incompetence that is generally only reserved for people in Government here in New Orleans.
If you had thought about what you were doing for three seconds or given an ounce of care for the people you called in, you wouldn’t have pissed off myself and a dozen other people, most of them educators.
You screwed this one up and, because I’m such a nice, caring guy, I’ll tell you where you went wrong.
The Gas-Guzzling Carpool Lane
Dear Environmentalists,
If there were ever a movement with its heart in the right place but a slew of half-cocked ideas, it would be yours. I agree that we should protect the earth, but I don’t think burning fossil fuels, throwing up tons of CO2 and creating a toxic sludge to protect a renewable resource and prevent biodegradable waste is all that bright.
But hey, recycle paper if you want to. It’s your right.
No, my question today revolves around yet another one of your mainstays, the HOV lane, AKA: The Carpool lane.
I have to wonder whether or not those of you behind this idea actually thought it all of the way through. Because, thanks to this invention. I am actually using twice the gas, sending up twice the CO2 and generally screwing the environment twice as bad
Don’t believe me, consider the following:
Water… Water… I Need Water.
Dear Sewage & Water Board,
As a long-time New Orleans resident, I’ve become sadly adapted to the results of political and civic incompetence. High crime, pothole-lined roads, malfunctioning stoplights, the usual. I realized some time ago that this city is run by the same 1000 monkey that, supposedly, can hammer out the works of Shakespeare if you leave them alone with typewriters.
But you, S&WB, have always been a particularly foul mark on the city. You’ve always been known for high rates, bad customer service and undrinkable water. It is no wonder that Kentwood bottles its water here, there are so many locals desperate for real water, they can make bank just reminding us what real H20 tastes like.
But today you broke new ground. Today you provided service so bad, so awful, that I actually WISHED I had access to your dirty-tasting water. That’s right, you disconnected my water. Why? Because of a stupid form.
No warning, No call. Not even a knock to let me know they’re turning it off. Just a dishwasher sounding like a cat had crawled in it.
So, if you have a moment, I’d like to tell my story and I hope you will listen to it and learn from it…
