Earl and Lou Ann McNugget are my other neighbors.
Thanks to the heavily wooded land between us, I lived here for four years before I ever caught sight of them. I was behind Earl on Metamuville Road. He's in his 80s, and as Metamuvillians in their 80s (or as I like to call them, "the kids") are wont to do, he slammed on his brakes while going downhill. I waited until he did it in a passing zone, then I passed him. Minutes later, I was at the end of my driveway getting my mail when he stopped his truck in the street in order to lecture me about road safety.
Having already been followed home by two old farts previously, I cut him off. "You were going beneath the speed limit and braking. It's daylight and the roads are dry. I passed you legally and safely. We're done here."
We both drove off, and that remains the only time I've ever spoken to him.
A couple years later, they tore down the trees, which it turns out were entirely on their property. I wasn't delighted, but what are you gonna do. In a matter of days, I went from living in the country to living on top of white trash. Being themselves, they did the demolition on the cheap, and I had to listen to backhoes and chainsaws and smell their burn pile for six weeks without a single daylight hour of respite.
If you really want someone to hate you, knock 20 grand off their property's value, uglify their life, and make them breath smoke and listen to chainsaws for six weeks.
Through the smoke, I saw my future emerge. Where once I saw only trees, I now saw dilapidated trucks. A box house with an aluminum roof, as well as a matching, filth-caked aluminum garage. Lawn ornaments. Tin bugling angels tacked to the front of the house year-round. And countless lightbulbs burning 24/7/365 so that we were all sure to enjoy their trashness to the absolute mostess.
Tomorrow: Lou Ann McNugget, super-genius