current mood: amused
Wow, there are so many things to say about my neighbors I don't really know where to start. I guess it all begins with Carlos. Carlos is special. He barely speaks English. He barely speaks Spanish for that matter. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed. But a tool, nonetheless.
Carlos comes over every day and bangs on the door. Oh, Carlos doesn't need anything. Nothing at all. Nothing we can figure out, anyway. It's like playing charades with a mentally challenged blind deaf dog, but more difficult. He brings over porn and we keep telling him we don't want it. Then he wants to borrow our DVD player to which we say OK. But no, he wants to borrow the DVD player and watch porn in our house. I kid you not.
Carlos’ family business is what you would call a chop shop. I’m not exactly sure what a chop shop does, but I know they are not over there fixing cars. It really doesn’t seem like they are doing anything useful at all with them. One day there will be nothing, no cars but their own mismatched, really sad-sounding mini van that coughs and sputters and is just begging to be put out of it’s misery, and the next there will be like 20 piece of shit cars. (My theory is that they go and buy cars really cheap from the Impound.)
Their method of chopping these cars is entertaining, though, I will give them that. They somehow manage to turn the car over completely on its roof (I always seem to miss this part) and proceed to bang the crap out it with a sledgehammer. I'm not really sure why. It's been 4 months and I still don't know why.
For about a week this goes on, all the while little car corpses are piling up in the empty field across the street. Then one day, the corpses go away and for a couple of weeks they will have nothing to do but drink cheap Mexican beer, drive around their sickly mini van and send Carlos away to try watch his porn elsewhere. The really funny thing is that when we broke our car the neighbors got mad that we didn't take it to them to "fix". I expect any day now to walk outside and see my car on it's roof looking like a dead cockroach.
Yesterday Carlos and the familia were having a yard sale. When we first moved here Carlos came over and just out of the blue flat-out asked Scott for clothes. Scott has like 283 t-shirts with stupid shit written on them (one of my favorite’s is “Too Punk for Pussies, Too Pussy for Punks” – still not sure what that is supposed to mean) so he gave Carlos a bunch of these shirts and some jeans. So we supplied them with most of what they were selling at the yard sale and they totally had no problem or shame in charging us for our own stuff. And Carlos is still walking around in his same ratty shirt and shorts sans shoes trying to watch porn in our trailer.
Wow, there are so many things to say about my neighbors I don't really know where to start. I guess it all begins with Carlos. Carlos is special. He barely speaks English. He barely speaks Spanish for that matter. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed. But a tool, nonetheless.
Carlos comes over every day and bangs on the door. Oh, Carlos doesn't need anything. Nothing at all. Nothing we can figure out, anyway. It's like playing charades with a mentally challenged blind deaf dog, but more difficult. He brings over porn and we keep telling him we don't want it. Then he wants to borrow our DVD player to which we say OK. But no, he wants to borrow the DVD player and watch porn in our house. I kid you not.
Carlos’ family business is what you would call a chop shop. I’m not exactly sure what a chop shop does, but I know they are not over there fixing cars. It really doesn’t seem like they are doing anything useful at all with them. One day there will be nothing, no cars but their own mismatched, really sad-sounding mini van that coughs and sputters and is just begging to be put out of it’s misery, and the next there will be like 20 piece of shit cars. (My theory is that they go and buy cars really cheap from the Impound.)
Their method of chopping these cars is entertaining, though, I will give them that. They somehow manage to turn the car over completely on its roof (I always seem to miss this part) and proceed to bang the crap out it with a sledgehammer. I'm not really sure why. It's been 4 months and I still don't know why.
For about a week this goes on, all the while little car corpses are piling up in the empty field across the street. Then one day, the corpses go away and for a couple of weeks they will have nothing to do but drink cheap Mexican beer, drive around their sickly mini van and send Carlos away to try watch his porn elsewhere. The really funny thing is that when we broke our car the neighbors got mad that we didn't take it to them to "fix". I expect any day now to walk outside and see my car on it's roof looking like a dead cockroach.
Yesterday Carlos and the familia were having a yard sale. When we first moved here Carlos came over and just out of the blue flat-out asked Scott for clothes. Scott has like 283 t-shirts with stupid shit written on them (one of my favorite’s is “Too Punk for Pussies, Too Pussy for Punks” – still not sure what that is supposed to mean) so he gave Carlos a bunch of these shirts and some jeans. So we supplied them with most of what they were selling at the yard sale and they totally had no problem or shame in charging us for our own stuff. And Carlos is still walking around in his same ratty shirt and shorts sans shoes trying to watch porn in our trailer.
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