Twenty years ago our neighbor next door, Eddie Macaroni was helping out with the tree trimming in our yard. When he finished, he went inside our house and took a nap on our couch. We thought that was weird but allowed him to finish his nap because he actually did work hard. When he woke up, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of chips and turned on our TV.
“Eddie,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I like it here better than my house,” he replied. “Our place is a dump and my dad’s a violent drunk. It’s calm here at your place and you make a lot more money. You let me come over to work because your own kids won’t do it for the kind of pittance you pay me. Then you complain because I have a few of your potato chips.”
Well, I did feel a little bad about that. Eddie was right. I did pay him much less than I could get my own kids to do the yard work. So I let him continue.
Eddie continued to work for me for the next six months until he fell out of the tree and sued me. When the payout was ordered, I figured I could have hired the Rolling Stones to do my yard work for a lot less money. But that wasn’t the only drawback. Eddie decided to recuperate at my house and brought his wife over from next door to take care of him.
At first, I was sympathetic. Then he and his wife started to help themselves to our food and car. He even sent some of our food next door to his kin and used our gas and car to drive them wherever they wanted to go. When I was sufficiently fed up, I kicked him and his wife out.
Our neighbors cried foul and berated us for such cruelty. Eddie and his wife wouldn’t leave because they had so much support from the neighbors. At the time we had a foreign exchange student living with us whom we had invited to stay. It was the neighbor’s contention that in doing so, we were somehow unfair to Eddie. But Eddie had even more justification. He said, “Remember, some of your property belonged to our family 200 years ago until you took it from us. I’m just looking for a better life.”
“What are you talking about, Eddie? Make your own better life over at your place.” I replied.
The Macaronians had lived next door to my family for generations. There’s been tension in the past over the property line and there was a violent feud that lasted two years way back when. The most recent conflict was when I caught one of them selling drugs to my son. The police wouldn’t do anything about it and, I suppose, my son has to shoulder a lot of the blame because he bought the drugs.
The Macaronians were miserable people. You could hear them at night battling over money issues. There were about eighteen or twenty living in that house, most of them unemployed. We took pity and gave some of them temporary work we needed done at our place. It appears that they squandered the money because their property always remained a dump.
I called the police on Eddie. They concluded he was harmless and a hard worker so it would be in everyone’s best interest to let him stay and help out.
Later Eddie married and had a baby but he didn’t move out and we couldn’t kick them out because, you know, they had that baby. They needed more room so the cops said it would be best if my daughter moved out of her room to accommodate them. I argued that it was my house and I should have a say in who gets to stay in it. But it was explained to me that this new baby, being born in my home, had a right to live with me and would be entitled to a portion of my family’s inheritance.
Since we had no room I sent my daughter next door to the Macaronian house to live but they had her arrested when she walked through the gate with her suitcase. I’m just glad they didn’t shoot her because they’re very chauvinistic about their property line. I guess I don’t blame them for that. I would be too if I were allowed to be.
Eventually, more Macaronians moved into our house since there seemed to be no authority I could call on to stop them. Some of the newcomers trashed my house and started hanging Macaronian family photos on my wall, gradually destroying my own family mementos. When one of them molested my kid I beat him to a pulp. I was charged with a hate crime and jailed.
When I was released I went home; but I had no home anymore. My family was living in the shed and my house was as decrepit as the Macaronians’. I miss those days when I had a family—and a police department that would enforce the law.
Eventually, the Macaronian family took over the entire neighborhood, including those neighbors who supported their ‘right’ to live in my house. I suppose it all worked out okay. After all, even though the entire neighborhood is now a slum, at least we are all equal and this is what keeps us from invading each other’s homes.
But at some point I will have to move. I’m looking for a neighborhood that will enforce my right to my own property. Mexico looks good. Unfortunately I’m an outsider and their Property Owner’s Association makes it impossible for anyone but a Mexican to own property.
“Eddie,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I like it here better than my house,” he replied. “Our place is a dump and my dad’s a violent drunk. It’s calm here at your place and you make a lot more money. You let me come over to work because your own kids won’t do it for the kind of pittance you pay me. Then you complain because I have a few of your potato chips.”
Well, I did feel a little bad about that. Eddie was right. I did pay him much less than I could get my own kids to do the yard work. So I let him continue.
Eddie continued to work for me for the next six months until he fell out of the tree and sued me. When the payout was ordered, I figured I could have hired the Rolling Stones to do my yard work for a lot less money. But that wasn’t the only drawback. Eddie decided to recuperate at my house and brought his wife over from next door to take care of him.
At first, I was sympathetic. Then he and his wife started to help themselves to our food and car. He even sent some of our food next door to his kin and used our gas and car to drive them wherever they wanted to go. When I was sufficiently fed up, I kicked him and his wife out.
Our neighbors cried foul and berated us for such cruelty. Eddie and his wife wouldn’t leave because they had so much support from the neighbors. At the time we had a foreign exchange student living with us whom we had invited to stay. It was the neighbor’s contention that in doing so, we were somehow unfair to Eddie. But Eddie had even more justification. He said, “Remember, some of your property belonged to our family 200 years ago until you took it from us. I’m just looking for a better life.”
“What are you talking about, Eddie? Make your own better life over at your place.” I replied.
The Macaronians had lived next door to my family for generations. There’s been tension in the past over the property line and there was a violent feud that lasted two years way back when. The most recent conflict was when I caught one of them selling drugs to my son. The police wouldn’t do anything about it and, I suppose, my son has to shoulder a lot of the blame because he bought the drugs.
The Macaronians were miserable people. You could hear them at night battling over money issues. There were about eighteen or twenty living in that house, most of them unemployed. We took pity and gave some of them temporary work we needed done at our place. It appears that they squandered the money because their property always remained a dump.
I called the police on Eddie. They concluded he was harmless and a hard worker so it would be in everyone’s best interest to let him stay and help out.
Later Eddie married and had a baby but he didn’t move out and we couldn’t kick them out because, you know, they had that baby. They needed more room so the cops said it would be best if my daughter moved out of her room to accommodate them. I argued that it was my house and I should have a say in who gets to stay in it. But it was explained to me that this new baby, being born in my home, had a right to live with me and would be entitled to a portion of my family’s inheritance.
Since we had no room I sent my daughter next door to the Macaronian house to live but they had her arrested when she walked through the gate with her suitcase. I’m just glad they didn’t shoot her because they’re very chauvinistic about their property line. I guess I don’t blame them for that. I would be too if I were allowed to be.
Eventually, more Macaronians moved into our house since there seemed to be no authority I could call on to stop them. Some of the newcomers trashed my house and started hanging Macaronian family photos on my wall, gradually destroying my own family mementos. When one of them molested my kid I beat him to a pulp. I was charged with a hate crime and jailed.
When I was released I went home; but I had no home anymore. My family was living in the shed and my house was as decrepit as the Macaronians’. I miss those days when I had a family—and a police department that would enforce the law.
Eventually, the Macaronian family took over the entire neighborhood, including those neighbors who supported their ‘right’ to live in my house. I suppose it all worked out okay. After all, even though the entire neighborhood is now a slum, at least we are all equal and this is what keeps us from invading each other’s homes.
But at some point I will have to move. I’m looking for a neighborhood that will enforce my right to my own property. Mexico looks good. Unfortunately I’m an outsider and their Property Owner’s Association makes it impossible for anyone but a Mexican to own property.
Dick Lancaster, October, 2010
Oh yes.. I've known your neighbor for years
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