The Uncomfortable Truth
For the past several days, I have found myself in a predicament of sorts.
A new neighbor is moving in, and to put it lightly this kind of neighbor and I have a nasty history together. It’s not that I don’t like their kind, but I sure would feel more comfortable if they lived somewhere else. You know, in another part of town where they belong, but no. They move in, literally, right on top of me, and I’m supposed to just take it because I’m “liberal” and all.
This morning I’m outside my back door, and here comes my neighbor up the stairs all nonchalant. What is with them? They act like they live here or something and that they can come and go as they please. (I’m pretty sure they were drinking because of the way they were swaying back and forth, but that’s what they do).
Everyone knows they bring down the property value, not to mention they are always hanging around causing trouble making the neighborhood less safe. (It’s what they do). Maybe if they got a job or at least acted like they were interested in bettering their lives we wouldn’t judge them so harshly, but they don’t even try. So being the blunt person I am I decided to say something.
“Look, you can’t just move in here like you own the place. I’ve lived here for two years, and I’m not going to sit idly by and watch you and your kind wreck the place. You need to stop hangin’ out or whatever it is you do. It’s a priviledge to live in this kind of neighborhood and you are not coming in and fucking it up. Look around, this isn’t the hood or whatever you call it. Doctors, lawyers etc live around here and we don’t allow riffraff. People are getting scared, and I’ll tell you right now I’m no one to trifle with. You dig?”
They just look at me at first. No response. Again that’s how they are. The world revolves around them, and we are supposed to take it. I say fuck them. I’m not going to take that shit. So, I pressed on.
“Did you hear what I said mother fucker? You need to stop hanging out outside my door. I have no qualms with smashing your dumb ass. You act like I’m supposed to be scared or something. Fuck you. Look at me hard all you want, but I’m still standing here, and don’t think I won’t fuck your ass up. You got me bent.”
Needless to say it was “on.” They came at me, my glass of Pomegranate juice went flying.
“Oh fuck no!” I hit them square in the jaw and knock them to the ground. “Now what mother fucker?! I told you, I fucking told you! I’m mother fuckin’ Bruce Lee as far as you know bitch!”
They get up slowly and head down the stairs trying to get away, but it’s too late for that shit. “It’s too late to run. It’s far too late for that. I was going to try and live peacefully with you, but you fucked up.” And then something happened. Something incredible, Karmic.
Out of nowhere about five or six of my other neighbors jump right on their ass. Apparently I wasn’t the only one sick of their shit. They fucked them up, and I mean they fucked them up beyond all recognition. In fact, here’s all that’s left of their punk ass. (As you can see from the photo, there ain’t shit left).
But they deserved whatever they got. You can’t just move into a new neighborhood, a neighborhood where your kind is a minority, and try to take over. If you do this is what happens. It’s called “Street Justice.” But our story doesn’t end there.
I walk down the stairs to talk to my neighbors that helped me out, and then they want to start talking shit to me?! At this point, fucking with me is a bad idea. I’m a crazy mother fucker, and I’ll fight ten of them without even thinking. “It’s like that?”, I ask them. “It’s like that”, they respond.
Before we step to it, I decided to take a picture of one of them so I can send it to his momma that way she can remember what he used to look like before he got beaten down like a common street walker. (As you can see, he’s a big mother fucker).
What? Who did you think I was talking about? You thought what? Man, fuck you. Damn, your ass is lucky I can’t see you. Shit, I got a Glock 17 and a full magazine with your name on it. Thinking such things about your humble author.
Maybe I should have been more clear about my problem.
You see, I had this Paper Wasp moving in above my back door. And I tried for three days to reason with it. Telling her, “Look you can live here, but don’t be hanging out around my door or bringing friends over. If you do our arrangement is null and void. You dig?” Well, she reneged, and brought a buddy with her this morning. I can keep my eye on one, but two? Naw, that’s how a mutha fucker gets crept on, and you’ll never catch me slippin’ when I’m on the bricks, and that’s fo’ real.
I didn’t want to kill her, and in the end I didn’t have to because her own kind did it for me. But that’s how they are isn’t it? They can’t be trusted. She thought she was safe, and just like that her ass was snagged out of the air by five or six Cicada Killers. They didn’t even leave a smudge mark for me to photograph. I had to get one out of a book. But this is what a Paper Wasp looks like or at least the species with whom I was dealing.
We have a long history, as I mentioned, she and I. When I was five someone who looked just like her, they all look the same, stung me while I was sitting on my friend’s back porch minding my own business. Just stung me because I was close to their nest. Like it’s my fault my people have killed countless millions of her people. I had nothing to do with that shit. I was only five.
But our issues didn’t end that afternoon. Several years later I was playing on my friend’s swing set, and guess what? That’s right, Paper Wasps had set up shop in his swing set. Moved in like they owned the fucking place. One comes down and stings me right on my eyelid. I looked like I’d been in a fight with Jake LaMotta himself, and because of this I think it’s fair to say my prejudice against them isn’t unfounded or unjustified.
It’s ludicrous for me to pay for what my ancestors did and any suggestion of such a thing is idiotic at best. But at the same time maybe I can understand why they are nervous around my kind. It’s not like we’ve treated them well, and how do they know I’m a vegetarian and don’t even kill spiders that are inside my house, much less outside it?
We didn’t listen to one another, and instead we let our prejudices get in the way. In the end, she paid the ultimate price. But the world is like that sometimes. There doesn’t seem to much understanding any more.
I guess Tony with his “Kill or be Killed” attitude wasn’t so far off. If you don’t save yourself in this world, who will? As cold as it seems, that is the plain and simple truth.
We can however, help one another, learn from one another and try to understand one another even when it makes us uncomfortable or even afraid.
I really hoped she and I could learn to co-exist, but for now I guess the world isn’t ready for us and them to become We.
Ultimately that’s the only way We can survive.
Maybe one day…