t: angela, Inspiring, make a difference, Nugget 4 Comments
Back in March, our Very Nice Old Neighbor Guy died. For the past nine months, I’ve noticed that his flowers aren’t quite as vibrant, his grass isn’t quite as tidy, and his wife isn’t quite as smiley. (She was never very smiley before he died, but now we couple her non-smileyhood with a refusal to return friendly waves. It’s quite sad, actually.)
Across the street from Very Nice Old Neighbor Guy’s wife lives a man and his two twenty-something boys. Although I know their names, I like to refer to them as Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck and Sons of Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck. I rarely see any of them getting out of their cars without a six pack. And although I have no problem with that, I do find it curious that they never seem to purchase real groceries. (I am on Neighborhood Watch. It’s my job to take note of these details.) (I’m not really on Neighborhood Watch.)
Last weekend we received about five inches of snow. (We also received a box of cookies from one of Jeff’s authors! They were delish!) Anyway, because of the snow, our street has been a big stupid mess, and I’ve seen quite a few cars spinning their tires in an attempt to maneuver Pudding Curve without wiping out into our mailbox. (I really should write a song about Pudding Curve. Are Jan and Dean still alive? Because Dan Fogelberg isn’t.)
Get this. Yesterday afternoon, Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck drove up the street with a plow attached to the front of his truck. He spent nearly an hour plowing the street. And then he plowed the driveways of those who hadn’t yet shoveled. And then he shoveled the curvy driveway of Very Nice Old Neighbor Guy’s wife and cleared out a walking path to her mailbox. And then he shoveled out from around my neighbor’s car that had been parked on the street (and stuck in the snow). And when my neighbor came out to thank him, Tipsy must have said something like, “Move your car into your driveway for a few minutes, and I’ll plow out from where the car was parked.” When the neighbor tried to move the car, he found that the wheels were spinning and the car wasn’t moving. SO, one of the Sons of Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck ran out Without A Shirt On and helped push the car out.
It was a Shirtless Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck Christmas Miracle.
After yelling for his kid to get his head out of his ass and go back into the house, Tipsy stood in his driveway, smoked a cigarette, and admired his work. And in my mind, I made him a big tray of cookies and hot chocolate to thank him for a job well done. (Sadly, we don’t have cookies or hot chocolate. We DO have beer, but I think Jeff would have been a little miffed if I had given it away.)
Because of his newly earned Good Neighbor status, I hereby promise to never again refer to Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck as Tipsy McDrunkaf*ck. I will now call him Mr. Burr. Because that is his name. (And it’s actually pretty perfect, because Mr. Burr is good with snow! Burrrrrrrrr!!!)
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.