Fortunately, my neighbor had another party that evening. Unfortunately, Gavin ended up being very, very wrong about how it all went down—and that he'd be any sort of help in the matter.
We let our men out early for the weekend, and by the time we headed over to my house, I was so jacked up from getting two entire REM cycles that I was entirely prepared to confront this girl head-on.
The only problem? She was nowhere in sight. Absolute, blissful silence radiated from next door, reminding me of the weird cleanliness when I had ... made my acquaintance with the property. Where the hell was she? I couldn't do battle alone. After much debate, Gavin and I decided against sneaking back into her garage to retrieve the time switch; we couldn't know when she'd return, after all. She could still be in there, for all we knew. We'd need to go in during the party chaos.
Gavin, being Gavin, took this development as an excellent opportunity for relaxation, which meant drinking a few beers and shooting pool in my basement. In my wired state, I also thought this was a delightful idea.
It was not a delightful idea.
By the time night fell and the first rumblings of the finest doof doof music began rattling my windows, we had become more than a little inebriated.
"And there it fucking is! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies and gentleman, the award for World's Worst Neighbor goes to ... whatever the fuck her name is!"
"Jesus, Trav, let's fucking dial it down a notch."
"No. No, I will not dial it down. I know how this song—ha ha—goes. First we'll hear this shit, and then in approximately forty-five minutes it'll suddenly get SO. MUCH. LOUDER. Just in time to coincide with the mass arrival of the world's douchiest douches, who will somehow, against all the natural laws of physics, turn the music louder and proceed to yell and vomit for the next, oh, four hours, until they, I don't know, pass the fuck out and then it'll get terribly quiet while they go into hibernation until about six on a fucking Saturday morning, at which point they'll shout and swear as they stumble semi-drunkenly out of the house and into whatever Jeep or Range Rover they've acquired this week and I am, once again, left sleepless and irritable."
Gavin stared at me, weaving slightly as he struggled to focus on my face. "Okay. Okay. So, the first thing I'm going to do is just take that beer out of your hands while I try to decipher whatever the fuck it was you just said to me. Yep, look at that, there it goes. Bye bye, beer, I've just chugged you. So tasty."
"Fuck you, man. That was my beer."
"Yes, and you clearly need its tasty benefits no longer."
"You're drunk, too!"
"Yep, and fuck if I'm not still mostly acting like a normal human being. If I had thought a mere six hours of sleep would get you so amped up, I'd never have allowed you to ... uh, what am I trying to say? Oh. Drink. Yeah, drink alcohol. That."
"I can see you'll be a great help in this matter. Props to you for your absolutely wooonderful command of language."
Gavin flipped me off, finishing his own beer in one swig before sweeping the lot of it into my trash can. "All right. That's enough of that. You're going to sit here, and I'm going to go out there and see if they can keep it down tonight."
I motioned magnanimously toward next door. "You go right ahead. I wish you luck in your endeavor."
Gavin flipped me off again as he climbed the basement steps. I leaned back on my couch, confident that he'd get absolutely nowhere, just as I had the many, many times I'd asked literally anyone over there to keep it down. Gavin's steps pattered across the floor above me, and then I heard the kitchen door open and shut. Deciding that a bottle of water was more than called for in my current state, I shuffled up to the kitchen and had just finished chugging a bottle when the door reopened and Gavin returned, smiling smugly.
My eyebrows rose as I silently handed him a bottle.
"Thanks, man. Apparently, you've got the charisma of a doormat, because one of the guys said they'd keep it down. He was pretty decent about it, too. What did you say to them?"
My brow rose skeptically. "What did the guy look like?"
"Um ... little shorter than us. Muscly. Bright red hair pulled back in one of those annoying man-bun things."
I started laughing. I slumped over the kitchen island, laughing my head off, even though the situation really wasn't a single bit funny.
"What? The fuck are you laughing like that for? I just helped you out, you dick."
Sobering, I straightened up and then eased onto the stool next to me. "No, Gavin. You did not help. In fact, you've just made it worse, because that asshole's Jared."
Judging by the affronted expression on his face, Gavin had no idea what the hell I was talking about, which was fair, since I hadn't explained a fucking thing, even though in our nearly 33 years of existence, he'd run into Jared more than once and should have known what was coming. I decided I might as well let him figure it out himself.
Raising my hands like some kind of deranged symphony conductor, I began flailing around as I said, "And in three ... two ... one ..."
Suddenly, the music, which until that point had been loud but tolerably so, absolutely surged in volume. Jared had not only increased the sound but also cranked the bass. My kitchen walls began rattling from the vibration, and yet again I wondered how many of these parties it would take before my windows finally shattered.
I couldn't help but laugh again when Gavin's jaw actually dropped. Slowly, he sank onto the stool on the other side of the island and slid his arms forward to rest on the counter.
"Oh yes. Now you understand. We are not dealing with normal people here."
"I literally asked so politely. I mean, I'm pretty sure I did. There might have been a 'dickhead' or two thrown in there, but I can't be certain. I can't believe that prick just turned it up."
"You see, I thought the same thing, the first time I asked them to turn it down. If you ask anyone else, they'll just turn the volume up, but if you ask Jared, he'll increase the bass too, because he's the world's biggest asshole. Why are you so surprised? Don't you remember he's Masterson's kid?"
Gavin's eyes widened. "Oh shit. That Jared. When the fuck did he get so jacked? I'm beginning to see why you broke into her house."
"Yes, I imagine you are."
Gavin glared at the house next door. Then, in his characteristic loyalty, he said, "We are so fucking with those dicks."
I laughed, completely on board with whatever scheme he'd devised. "I'm so down, man. What do you have in mind?"
He stared at the house for another moment before glancing at me, a gleefully evil expression on his face. "I've got just the idea."
Within an hour, things had progressed enough next door for Gavin and I to be quite confident that everyone would be too drunk to stop our nefarious plan. Well, our slightly nefarious plan, anyway. We giggled like naughty schoolboys as we eyed the line of cars parked haphazardly on my neighbor's lawn and—much to my chagrin—my driveway.
"Bastards! Why is not parking on someone else's property such a difficult concept to comprehend?"
"Shhh, shh. Don't worry, Trav, we'll get 'em."
We may have opened another bottle or two of beer in the interim.
We ran, bent over at the waist as we sprinted toward the line of cars. Gavin glanced around, trying to identify our target, but I pushed him out of the way and led us directly over to the fire-engine-red Jeep Wrangler sprawled next to the shrub Annabelle had planted, even though I'd explicitly told her not to bother.
It became pretty apparent that Jared must have failed his driver's exam, because not only had he parked on my property, but he'd also managed to somehow plant the front of his Jeep inside the shrub. It was almost impressive, how much he'd fucked up the parking job. Assuming he'd even tried, that is.
"Jesus, Trav. I know that's one fucking ugly shrub and you hate the very sight of it, but even you have to admit that this fucker can't drive."
"Oh no. He cannot. He especially cannot when he's drunk. I would know; he almost took out my mailbox when he left last weekend."
Gavin stared at me, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "Whoa, that's some felonious shit right there."
"No kidding. On multiple fronts. There are times when I've considered running the odds on which law they'll finally arrest him for breaking. Will it be the DUI or the destruction of federal mail? We may never know. Not that Masterson would ever let him go to jail."
"Well, okay then, Trav. If you say so. Let's just get this over with so we can enjoy the show."
Gavin squatted down near one of the Jeep's front wheels, groping around for the stem cap. He twisted slightly to loosen it. Finally, he nodded.
"It's leaking. Just a little, but it's leaking. It'll take a while before it's flat, though."
"Fortunately, we've got all night. Shouldn't we loosen one of the others, or something? What if it isn't flat enough when they try to leave? I mean, we're practically doing the public a favor by preventing them from driving."
"Well, we're still going for plausible deniability here. One flat tire is suspicious enough, let alone two. Besides, didn't you say they usually leave at like six in the morning? That's hours from now. It should be suitably flat by then, and if they happen to still be drunk, this will stop them. These tires are shitty enough that one of them going flat is believable. Let's not push our luck."
Fortunately, my neighbor had another party that evening. Unfortunately, Gavin ended up being very, very wrong about how it all went down—and that he'd be any sort of help in the matter.
We let our men out early for the weekend, and by the time we headed over to my house, I was so jacked up from getting two entire REM cycles that I was entirely prepared to confront this girl head-on.
The only problem? She was nowhere in sight. Absolute, blissful silence radiated from next door, reminding me of the weird cleanliness when I had ... made my acquaintance with the property. Where the hell was she? I couldn't do battle alone. After much debate, Gavin and I decided against sneaking back into her garage to retrieve the time switch; we couldn't know when she'd return, after all. She could still be in there, for all we knew. We'd need to go in during the party chaos.
Gavin, being Gavin, took this development as an excellent opportunity for relaxation, which meant drinking a few beers and shooting pool in my basement. In my wired state, I also thought this was a delightful idea.
It was not a delightful idea.
By the time night fell and the first rumblings of the finest doof doof music began rattling my windows, we had become more than a little inebriated.
"And there it fucking is! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies and gentleman, the award for World's Worst Neighbor goes to ... whatever the fuck her name is!"
"Jesus, Trav, let's fucking dial it down a notch."
"No. No, I will not dial it down. I know how this song—ha ha—goes. First we'll hear this shit, and then in approximately forty-five minutes it'll suddenly get SO. MUCH. LOUDER. Just in time to coincide with the mass arrival of the world's douchiest douches, who will somehow, against all the natural laws of physics, turn the music louder and proceed to yell and vomit for the next, oh, four hours, until they, I don't know, pass the fuck out and then it'll get terribly quiet while they go into hibernation until about six on a fucking Saturday morning, at which point they'll shout and swear as they stumble semi-drunkenly out of the house and into whatever Jeep or Range Rover they've acquired this week and I am, once again, left sleepless and irritable."
Gavin stared at me, weaving slightly as he struggled to focus on my face. "Okay. Okay. So, the first thing I'm going to do is just take that beer out of your hands while I try to decipher whatever the fuck it was you just said to me. Yep, look at that, there it goes. Bye bye, beer, I've just chugged you. So tasty."
"Fuck you, man. That was my beer."
"Yes, and you clearly need its tasty benefits no longer."
"You're drunk, too!"
"Yep, and fuck if I'm not still mostly acting like a normal human being. If I had thought a mere six hours of sleep would get you so amped up, I'd never have allowed you to ... uh, what am I trying to say? Oh. Drink. Yeah, drink alcohol. That."
"I can see you'll be a great help in this matter. Props to you for your absolutely wooonderful command of language."
Gavin flipped me off, finishing his own beer in one swig before sweeping the lot of it into my trash can. "All right. That's enough of that. You're going to sit here, and I'm going to go out there and see if they can keep it down tonight."
I motioned magnanimously toward next door. "You go right ahead. I wish you luck in your endeavor."
Gavin flipped me off again as he climbed the basement steps. I leaned back on my couch, confident that he'd get absolutely nowhere, just as I had the many, many times I'd asked literally anyone over there to keep it down. Gavin's steps pattered across the floor above me, and then I heard the kitchen door open and shut. Deciding that a bottle of water was more than called for in my current state, I shuffled up to the kitchen and had just finished chugging a bottle when the door reopened and Gavin returned, smiling smugly.
My eyebrows rose as I silently handed him a bottle.
"Thanks, man. Apparently, you've got the charisma of a doormat, because one of the guys said they'd keep it down. He was pretty decent about it, too. What did you say to them?"
My brow rose skeptically. "What did the guy look like?"
"Um ... little shorter than us. Muscly. Bright red hair pulled back in one of those annoying man-bun things."
I started laughing. I slumped over the kitchen island, laughing my head off, even though the situation really wasn't a single bit funny.
"What? The fuck are you laughing like that for? I just helped you out, you dick."
Sobering, I straightened up and then eased onto the stool next to me. "No, Gavin. You did not help. In fact, you've just made it worse, because that asshole's Jared."
Judging by the affronted expression on his face, Gavin had no idea what the hell I was talking about, which was fair, since I hadn't explained a fucking thing, even though in our nearly 33 years of existence, he'd run into Jared more than once and should have known what was coming. I decided I might as well let him figure it out himself.
Raising my hands like some kind of deranged symphony conductor, I began flailing around as I said, "And in three ... two ... one ..."
Suddenly, the music, which until that point had been loud but tolerably so, absolutely surged in volume. Jared had not only increased the sound but also cranked the bass. My kitchen walls began rattling from the vibration, and yet again I wondered how many of these parties it would take before my windows finally shattered.
I couldn't help but laugh again when Gavin's jaw actually dropped. Slowly, he sank onto the stool on the other side of the island and slid his arms forward to rest on the counter.
"Oh yes. Now you understand. We are not dealing with normal people here."
"I literally asked so politely. I mean, I'm pretty sure I did. There might have been a 'dickhead' or two thrown in there, but I can't be certain. I can't believe that prick just turned it up."
"You see, I thought the same thing, the first time I asked them to turn it down. If you ask anyone else, they'll just turn the volume up, but if you ask Jared, he'll increase the bass too, because he's the world's biggest asshole. Why are you so surprised? Don't you remember he's Masterson's kid?"
Gavin's eyes widened. "Oh shit. That Jared. When the fuck did he get so jacked? I'm beginning to see why you broke into her house."
"Yes, I imagine you are."
Gavin glared at the house next door. Then, in his characteristic loyalty, he said, "We are so fucking with those dicks."
I laughed, completely on board with whatever scheme he'd devised. "I'm so down, man. What do you have in mind?"
He stared at the house for another moment before glancing at me, a gleefully evil expression on his face. "I've got just the idea."
Within an hour, things had progressed enough next door for Gavin and I to be quite confident that everyone would be too drunk to stop our nefarious plan. Well, our slightly nefarious plan, anyway. We giggled like naughty schoolboys as we eyed the line of cars parked haphazardly on my neighbor's lawn and—much to my chagrin—my driveway.
"Bastards! Why is not parking on someone else's property such a difficult concept to comprehend?"
"Shhh, shh. Don't worry, Trav, we'll get 'em."
We may have opened another bottle or two of beer in the interim.
We ran, bent over at the waist as we sprinted toward the line of cars. Gavin glanced around, trying to identify our target, but I pushed him out of the way and led us directly over to the fire-engine-red Jeep Wrangler sprawled next to the shrub Annabelle had planted, even though I'd explicitly told her not to bother.
It became pretty apparent that Jared must have failed his driver's exam, because not only had he parked on my property, but he'd also managed to somehow plant the front of his Jeep inside the shrub. It was almost impressive, how much he'd fucked up the parking job. Assuming he'd even tried, that is.
"Jesus, Trav. I know that's one fucking ugly shrub and you hate the very sight of it, but even you have to admit that this fucker can't drive."
"Oh no. He cannot. He especially cannot when he's drunk. I would know; he almost took out my mailbox when he left last weekend."
Gavin stared at me, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "Whoa, that's some felonious shit right there."
"No kidding. On multiple fronts. There are times when I've considered running the odds on which law they'll finally arrest him for breaking. Will it be the DUI or the destruction of federal mail? We may never know. Not that Masterson would ever let him go to jail."
"Well, okay then, Trav. If you say so. Let's just get this over with so we can enjoy the show."
Gavin squatted down near one of the Jeep's front wheels, groping around for the stem cap. He twisted slightly to loosen it. Finally, he nodded.
"It's leaking. Just a little, but it's leaking. It'll take a while before it's flat, though."
"Fortunately, we've got all night. Shouldn't we loosen one of the others, or something? What if it isn't flat enough when they try to leave? I mean, we're practically doing the public a favor by preventing them from driving."
"Well, we're still going for plausible deniability here. One flat tire is suspicious enough, let alone two. Besides, didn't you say they usually leave at like six in the morning? That's hours from now. It should be suitably flat by then, and if they happen to still be drunk, this will stop them. These tires are shitty enough that one of them going flat is believable. Let's not push our luck."
