Sunday, August 5, 2012

Apt 146

The perfect supplement to any welcome mat.
The indispensable panty liner.
I still don't know my next door neighbors name.  It’s something foreign sounding and any effort I might make to figure it by cycling through random names would only make me look like a racist.  So, I just call him Shane.  Only recently was I finally able to commit the name of his girlfriend to mind, Agatha (not her real name). The only reason I am probably going to remember that is because Sam told me and the only reason I am probably not going to remember it is because I feel this compulsion to give her a fake name on this blog.  
Agatha suns herself on a beach chair that Tony found.  I have the feeling it is because Tony once saw her sunning herself on a towel and being a creepy demented rapist sortof guy encouraged them to take it so she would sun herself more.  This beach chair was one of a pair that was thrown in the dumpster.  Tony reclaimed one of them, cleaned it off, and gave it to them.    
I was once speaking with one of the property managers and she let it slip that Agatha is actually the lease signer.  She also let it slip that as far as she knew Shane is not Agatha’s husband and gave me this vibe that she did not think he was the father of their baby either.  Shane and Agatha both own gold/tan colored cars.  One is a Nissan while the other car is a Lexus.  Shane and Agatha have got to be pretty popular too.  Day and night they get quick five minute visits from different people.  Sometimes visits so fast they do not even bother turning off their car.  
Yes Agatha, you too can park your car like a selfish asshole.
One day coming home from work from the Surgicenter I saw Shane and his Lexus pulled over with two police cars.  He was sitting on the curb.  One of the cop cars was a K9 unit.  Shortly after that he vanished for about 2-3 months.  Only the Nissan occupied a space in front of the apartment.  Agatha still entertained guests.  Including one gentleman who helped her change her locks and door frame one day.  

1) Whitewood Gardens is an affordable place which Agatha had to sign the lease while telling the rental office she was a single mother.
2) Shane and Agatha own a pitbull who flips a shit if I walk near their apartment.  
3) Lots of visitors.  Day or night.  Quick visits.
4) These visits stop if Shane is not around.  
5) Not only did they change the locks on their door they also replaced the door frame.  All of this was done without the knowledge or approval of the property manager.  
6) Shane attracts the attention of police officers.  
No, It's never too late at night to fortify
your drug den.
    It’s obvious.  Shane is a doctor and these people are dropping by for wellness visits.  Agatha is a nurse and without the capable Dr. Shane Ghetto Physician she can not take care of the surrounding populace.  His services are so desired that they had to increase security to protect their new born child.  
    No.  The truth is, Shane is probably a drug dealer.  Can I say that with definitive certainty?  No, not at all.  I know what you are thinking, “Tom!? How can you tolerate living next to a possible drug dealer?”  To which I have forced myself to accept that there HAS to be some benefit.  The biggest is they tend to keep to themselves. They leave me and my wife alone which is more than I can say for Tony and Bonnie.  There is a reduced chance that someone will do something stupid because I am sure Shane does not want to attract the attention his uniformed friends of Eatontown.  They are quiet neighbors and only once in my 8 months living here have I seen them throw a party and even that was only about 10 people.  
    With that comes an assortment of problems and headaches.  For one, I AM LIVING NEXT DOOR TO A FUCKING DRUG DEALER.  These shifty people are always sitting out there with their headlights on.  Sitting in their cars for extended periods of time before leaving.  Who knows if one of these shifty people get the wrong door one day or get really frustrated with their dealer one night and shoot up the apartment.  Or one night will I have to deal with being questioned by police officers, who might think my lack of knowing anything be interpreted as me being a patron of his pharmaceutical services.
But, the greatest issue I have comes mostly from their 70 lb pit bull, Max.  I am sure with in the Agatha/Shane household Max must be like one of the family.  This is evidenced by the the fact Max is not kept on a leash anymore.  Shane will sit on his porch or leaned into the open windows of his visitors cars with Max sniffing around yards away from him.  Sometimes Sam and I will pull up in our car and Shane will see us and tell Max to go inside and he obeys.  Which is good because once I was getting something out of my trunk and when I turned around Max was there. Effectively cornering me arms full between my car and the my side opening RAV 4 trunk hatch.  
One night a few months ago Sam went to walk Dante after getting in rather late.  She was walking Dante near the dumpster when as  Sam describes, “Max just appeared.”  It caught Dante off guard because he only saw Max when Sam gasped.  Dante immediately started snarling and lunging at him Sam scooped him up and ran inside.  It became apparent that Max was such a good dog that if it was late enough he could just be let out without supervision to roam the campus of Whitewood Gardens as he saw fit.  
There have been times and I want to emphasize the pluralization of the word TIMES that I have gone to walk Dante and the moment I open my door Max has tried to make his way into my apartment.  I have to quickly yank Dante back to prevent him from protecting his home and quickly close the door so that Max backs up OUT OF MY FUCKING APARTMENT.  This has happened so often that I now look out the peephole all the time and especially before I leave the apartment.  
I was never a peephole user but I am the consummate peephole enthusiast.  I have even browsed the peephole section at Lowe’s to see how much a fully armed and operational peephole upgrade might cost me.
I have more interaction with their dog then the human counterparts.  I don’t care for their proxy too much so in turn I do not care for them.  The property manager asked me one day if I had any problems with their dog.  I did mention that I noticed they sometimes don’t use a leash.  She said she had complaints from other people in the complex about the dog roaming free.  Agatha told her that she was in the process of getting rid of the dog.  That was two months ago.  The dog tried to get in my apartment again last weekend. If I complain too much, everyone might have to get rid of their dogs.  Which would consequently leave Sam, Dante, and I homeless because I am not going to get rid of my dog over some lousy rule.  
Are these neighbors terrible people?  I don’t want to think they are.  
Have I heard their baby crying inside the apartment and did they turn the TV louder?  Yes. But who know maybe the baby prefers dubstep to the booty dropping bass they were playing.
Do I feel awkward when I see Agatha tanning herself and I ask myself what Shane finds attractive?  Yes.  Because I certainly don’t see it.  
Do I wonder what Shane sells and how much it might cost me?  OF COURSE NOT. THAT’S ILLEGAL AND WRONG!  
Am I a little jealous how well behaved their possibly murderous pitbull is?  Don’t tell Dante, but, yes.

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