|
We are having major issues with one of the people next door- an apartment house that we refer to semi-affectionately as Casa de los Cuckoos, as everyone who lives there is just a wee bit loco.
There's Pajama Lady, who, regardless of the season, never leaves the house without donning many articles of clothing and her trusty mittens, always with her PJ pants as a top layer; the Pathological Smoking Guy, a Burlington legend, who does nothing but walk downtown and back, talk to himself, and smoke CONSTANTLY (I have never seen him without a butt in his mouth), and George, who's been around since I moved here 20 years ago. He's definitely an alcoholic, but mostly harmless; he always wears a sport coat, even with shorts. When you live in a small town, you see these folks; they're part and parcel of the landscape.
Honestly, they're so much better than the previous occupants, when it was Casa de los Screaming Fucktards: two somehow-related families that felt the need to air their dirty laundry in the dooryard every day from six AM to ten PM. Very loudly. With lots of cursewords. I was kind of scared of them, and the only thing that ever shut them up was when my husband and I took our guitar and banjo out to the back porch and played the theme from "Deliverance." Then they scattered like cockroachs from a kitchen light. True story.
So anyway, everything was fine until a couple of weeks ago, when we noticed that George was throwing garbage into the back yard (which abuts our back yard)- most notably, a couple of big frozen turkeys, as well as a bunch of random crap- clothing, broken appliances, and bagged trash.
I called the property management company, told them about it, and they came and picked it up. A couple of days later, I saw George tossing more crap into the side yard (note: I don't spend a lot of time spying on my neighbors, but we don't smoke in the house, and we have direct view of next door when we step out on the back porch for a cigarette).
They picked up the garbage again; late yesterday afternoon (yes, I smoke too much), I observed George tossing more crap in the back yard, and behaving oddly- he opened and shut the mailboxes three times, came out of the house, and did the same. Later that night, we saw the lights in their apartment flick on and off, and someone opened and shut the windows three times in succession. Repeatedly.
This morning, my husband saw him checking not only the mailboxes, but the car doors in
their driveway. I called Betty (we're now on a first-name basis, and she's awfully nice), and told her of the latest dumping developments, including the OCD behaviors. The trash was picked up again, but at this point, I'm more worried about George. Given his behavior, he needs help. Betty has been unable to contact his caseworker OR the person in charge of the house.
Personally, I think that someone needs to step in and help poor old George. His meds (or lack thereof) are not working. Also, I don't want to find any more rotting carcasses in my garden. I'm funny that way.
|