I had my property line surveyed last week. No, not Percy's. The other one.
That neighbor has thoughtfully torn down the thick forest that was once between us so that I might have a better look at the beater pickups parked in the lawn; the cement swan lawn ornaments; the enormous tin trumpeting angels she has tacked on the front of the house 365 days a year; and the 17, count 'em, 17 lights that illuminate it all 24/7. And so I am erecting a fence. If I could erect a 20-foot high electrified fence with guard towers and gun turrets, I would.
As the surveyor was packing up, I grabbed a line marker out of the back of his truck. I marched about 15 feet into Percy's yard and planted it there, pink flag a-fluttering, roughly aligned with the center of his new garage. I couldn't wait for Percy to emerge from his toolshed. I waited a half hour, but I had to go. When I returned home, Percy was waiting for me.
"IS THAT FOR REAL?!"
I burst out laughing. Percy tried to muster a smile, but he couldn't. Apparently I had set off a neighborhood panic. No fewer than six homeowners were on their hands and knees, sifting frantically through foliage for survey pegs.
"Jesus fuckin' christ," exclaimed a neighbor I'd never met before.
"Hi, I'm John. Nice to meet you."
Percy left me the use of his garage for the winter. Very thoughtful. Very, very thoughtful. Yep.
In the above photo, I'm rockin' his safari hat. This is why you don't lend me keys.