Midnight Thespians; profanity, moaning and sprinklers

The Student Ghetto Chronicles Part Two

Last night my sleep was interrupted by Roscoe turning on the lights and swearing about “the damn students”.

A hamburger with a rim of lettuce sitting on a...

A truly stylish hood ornament. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This kind of thing happens sometimes, generally after a young, drunken soul leaves a hamburger with the ketchup covered patty face down on Roscoe’s car. For the record this has never once happened to my truck, likely because I bring our rabble rousing neighbours bagel flavoured cake. Don’t ask, I was teased mercilessly for that abomination at home, but the frat boys didn’t complain.

Personally I’ll take the odd McDonaldsified vehicle over moving to a less colourful area where people don’t shout “I effing love boooooooooooobs” at three am. Only they don’t say effing. It adds spice to my day. Or in that case my very early morning. There’s a certain amount of youthful joie de vie which is lost when you don’t wake up on March 17th with teenagers traipsing through your backyard en route to the frat party next door. “Oh sorry ma’am. Cool Snoopy jammies. Do you want to come with us?”

Anyway, so Roscoe has a completely different story but I’m going to tell my version.

So at about eleven o’clock last night Roscoe was studying in a very grouchy manner. The gods of humour and calamity saw this and decided that his evening needed less colostomy bag protocol and more fun. Hence Dude appears underneath the office window. And begins to reenact Hamlet for the two young ladies with him.

Only he doesn’t remember the plot to Hamlet. Or any of the characters, or what Shakespearean prose sounds like. So he just starts fighting a battle to the death.  With himself.

Roscoe, who was focused on colostomy bag incisions, is able to ignore this production. Sort of.

However a moment later Dude realizes that our landlord has left the sprinkler and the hose out. Right next to the tap. Dude senses that his production is lacking a certain something – a storm. Being the Good Samaritan that he is, Dude also noticed that our grass was looking thirsty. This environmentally savvy young thespian knew that the best time to water your lawn is at night. Three birds with one very convenient stone. On goes the hose.

Regretfully Dude had underestimated the water pressure. It was at this point in the evening when swear words, groans and water started to come in through the open office window.

Roscoe, not realizing that Dude was just trying to provide him with some entertainment while watering our lawn, rushed outside and started bellowing at the young do-gooder, who ran, leaving the hose on full blast and soaking Roscoe to the skin.

This is when my husband burst into our bedroom and started going on about that he knows how much I enjoy living in the student ghetto but really we’re just surrounded by awful people.

All I saw was the jerk who woke me up in the middle of the night asking for a towel when there was one on his hook in the bathroom.

Roscoe tells the story differently. Tragically this is my blog, so I’m going to talk about wannabe actors who like to conserve water and help their neighbours. Tough luck dear husband, perhaps wait until morning next time to tell me about our midnight visitors?

12 thoughts on “Midnight Thespians; profanity, moaning and sprinklers

  1. Ms. Unwashed of the Greatest,

    you have so many adventures up there. All i have is a weird neighbor whose kid rides around on a big mower for fun at 8 pm when I’m trying to watch Alias.

    I also love your new header.

    love and hugs,
    ms. blueberry

  2. Thanks for the compliment about the header! My Mom took it.
    I mean,
    something less nerdy?

    Perhaps I should bring myself and some of my drunken neighbours to teach your small cyclist a thing or two about debauchery. That way you can have just as many hamburger on the car, person on the lawn, people shouting about women’s mammaries stories as me.

    I do like to share the love.

  3. Neighbors are always a pain. But mine don’t normally give me much blogging fodder. Perhaps you should write a book about these experiences.

    If Roscoe is studying to be a gastroenterologist, beware. I have Crohn’s disease and have found these specialists to be a particularly dour group. Shouldn’t shit force them to laugh?

  4. Dear The Great Unwashed,

    If you’re ever looking for more neighbourhood drama to inspire you I have; drug busts, dog fights and a ridiculous kid on a motor bike riding up and down the walking path in front of my house occurring on a regular basis. Why get cable when there’s so much to entertain right outside my kitchen window? You’re always welcome. White wine and puppy kisses provided.

    Great post. Love your stuff 🙂

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