Daily Archives: March 17, 2010

My Neighbors Could Be Aliens. Or In Witness Protection. Either Way They’re Not From MY World.

“I think my neighbors might be aliens”

That was an honest-to-God search term that found my blog. And I could have honestly entered that search term into Google. Except the more probable search would be: “I think my neighbors might be in witness protection.”

We all seek like-minded people. I love differences. It’s what makes the world go ’round. But I prefer to be surrounded by people with similar values. I have pretty high standards, so in our neighbor’s defense, I’ve set the bar high.

They haven’t met it. Not even close.

We moved in first. A new subdivision, we were alone on our little hill for a while. Then new neighbors moved in. Please let them be nice, we prayed.

And they were. Nice. Or so it seemed. Chatty. Friendly. She asked where the bus stop was. Right in front of our house, I told her. And when school started a few weeks later, the bus stopped in front of her house. The bus driver told our daughter that was the new stop. Later, I found out she had complained that her 14 yr. old son had allergies and a torn meniscus. He couldn’t walk “all the way” over to our house.

The dad works from home. When my husband asked what he did, he was very vague. “A computer based business,” was all he said. We waited for clarification and he just stood there and smiled. She’s a stay at home mom. He works from home but he’s often outside working in the yard, running or playing basketball with his sons when they get home from school. His work days appear very short.

Just before dusk, we often see them walking down the street with a few golf clubs in hand. Sneaking onto the course at the 5th hole. Stealing course time.

And then, there was the fence. We got a puppy. We decided to fence the yard. In our neighborhood, there are designs to choose from and you have to get your neighbor to sign off  that they have no issues with your choice. Of course, our neighbors had issues. They wouldn’t sign. They showed us what they liked, because they were considering a fence, as well. At first I was annoyed. But as luck would have it, I liked their choice better. It was a little more expensive but it looked a lot nicer. We agreed. We also agreed to share the side that cut down our two properties and share the cost. We shook hands.

The company wouldn’t lay the fence until both parties signed a contract. Our neighbors stalled. We prodded. They stalled some more. Our puppy was growing. We put up with their indecision for 3 months. Finally, we had to go on without them. 

If you don’t share a side of the fence, the fence has to be laid 6 inches inside your property line.  A week after our fence was installed, they asked to hook up to ours. We said, “Sure. Sharing the cost would be xxx amount of dollars.” They said, “We’re not paying for half of that fence! It’s on YOUR property.”

We said, “Ahhhh….No.”

And then, of course, there is the dad – who has more than a healthy interest in our teenage daughter. She has always said, “He gives me the creeps.” And we’ve always pooh-poohed her perception. She is our “Little Victorian,” after all. But one day, while sitting on our back porch flipping through a magazine while the boys played in the sprinkler, he leaned over the fence. “Having fun boys?” My ears perked up. They told him, yes and he said, “Where is your sister? Doesn’t she want to get in her bathing suit and play too? Or is she too shy?” I stood up and said, “She’s not here. Can I help you?” Evidently, he couldn’t see me through the screen. He turned a few shades of red, stumbled with his words and then commented on the weather and made a hasty retreat.

They never have family visit from out-of-town. They’re vague about where they’re from and what brought them to our area.

Sneaky. Weird. Vague. Strange. Creepy.

Aliens learning a new culture, trying to assimilate and learn our values and norms? A mob snitch forced into witness protection? I have no idea.

I DO know this. They’re not from MY world.


Filed under Observations