When we moved into our house, we knew we had some oddball neighbors. For starters, there were the people on the West side of us that had 4 dogs, 3 kids that said words I would never dream of using, the wife didn’t work and her hair was colored to resemble a skunk, (it did to me, anyway), and the husband was missing 1 leg and ran a taxidermy out of their basement. All in all they were nice people. But I would be lying if I said I was disappointed when the parents divorced and the whole slew of them moved on. We started a feud with the neighbors to the East shortly after taking possession of the house. There is an alley that runs between our two houses which these other people always park in and block from the street to the back alley. Jake called the cops on them to report that they are blocking the alley…some nails were spilt in our yard…you get the picture. As it turns out, I went to high school with the guy that lives in the house and didn’t get along with him too well so I wanted nothing to do with them. Jake desperately wanted to make things right once he found out that it is their drive way and they are allowed to park in it. Long story short, we are all buddies now and we enjoy sitting on their front porch drinking beer and yelling out obscenities at passersby. (Let me clarify that I enjoy sitting on the porch and drinking beer, Jake likes to join in the others at yelling obscenities at passersby.) But all of this is another story.
The oddest of the oddball neighbors were the people that lived 2 doors down from us in the old funeral home. Not that I believe in spooks and haunting spirits or anything, but you have to admit there is something weird about living in a funeral home. To its credit, the house is GORGEOUS and worth a pretty penny, even in the housing market today, but it still takes a different kind of person to willingly live in an old funeral home. When I say different, basically I mean FREAK-O-ZIOD!! It’s not just the fact that this family lives in a funeral home that makes them weird. Basically, it’s everything they do! They have a plethora of vehicles that they are always trying to sell which is just about always junk. Once in awhile they have a decent one sitting out there. It just so happened that we met the family that lives in the funeral home officially when they had one of their rare decent finds parked outside of their junk filled garage.
We had been outside working in the back yard and Jake kept going on and on about this truck they had for sale and how he just knew that it would be a good idea to sell our Malibu and buy this rusted out POS truck because it had an Isuzu diesel engine in it that had over 500,000 miles on it. (Okay, I know that the Malibu is not in the best condition anymore, it has 103K miles and it’s almost 8 years old, what do you expect?, But seriously, give me a break!) Well, Jake is the type of person that once he gets an idea in his head he will not stop, (until he finds out on his own that he’s ridiculous!). So, against my better judgment, we head over to find out a little bit more about this wonderful vehicle that is going to get Jake 40 MPG.
When we cross the parking lot that divides our drive and their garage there is a guy standing outside the garage tinkering with some old machinery. Jake asked him about the truck, (while I squeezed onto my little dog as tightly as I could afraid that these people might want to take him from me and turn him into tomorrow’s supper). The guy told us to go through a door to the right just inside the garage and the person we needed to talk to was in there. We walk in, I loosen my grip on Peanut and start to feel a little at ease knowing that the house is very tidy and decorated very nicely. We walk down a dimly lit hallway and I start to feel a little apprehensive again. There are old fashioned electric candle scones hanging every few feet, the wall paper is that busy fleur-de-lis pattern and the carpet is that old fashioned shag like stuff that muffles your footsteps…or the footsteps of someone trying to sneak up on you. Yep, you guessed it, I gasped and spun around and jumped backwards, knocking into Jake just as he approached the door that the man we were looking for was supposed to be in. (There was no one behind me. No one that I could see anyway.) Jake hollered and knocked on the door and the guy told us to come in.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I would see next!
He is the guy we were looking for, lying in a pair of shorts on his back on top of this cadaver-autopsy-looking table. At his feet, his 15-year-old son rubbing his feet. Jake had the same look on his face, and it must have been a strange one because the guy immediately started to explain. “My son here, he’s 15, he wants to earn some extra money so I, uh, pay him to rub me down,” he explained. “It’s pretty nice, he starts with my head and he doesn’t get supper or the cash until every last toe has been touched.” I happened to glance at his feet just as he was saying this and I actually say him spreading his toes so the boy could get down into the “crevices”.
Thank God I had the dog with me, at least I could turn him to my face and act like he was licking me so I could at least disguise the look on my face and the bouts of laughter I was trying REALLY hard to control. Jake asked him a couple of questions about the truck and the guy gave Jake his number. Actually, they guy said, “Son, write down my cell and give it to him.” We were outta there so fast, I think it could have been considered record timing!
Once we got back to our house and had the door slammed and dead bolted shut, I wondered out loud just how much the kid had to “rub down”. We both laughed and went upstairs to bed. We laid there for awhile, I was almost asleep when Jake rolled over and said, “I don’t think I want to buy that truck.” Thank God he came to his senses on that one!!
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