My downstairs neighbor Brandine done throwed Cletus out (got a restrainin’ order and all). She, having, umm, over-enjoyed herself earlier this evening, dragged little Brandi-Sue Condoleezza up here to Chat. I was the perfect hostess, of course–even found her an ashtray. We traded numbers and I said of course I will call in the law should I see Cletus’ pick-up parked outside.
She invited me over tomorrow to enjoy the wading pool (!) and see her decor (!!). Oh, dear lord, what am I going to do? I don’t want to be unfriendly (well, actually, I do, a bit) . . . But we are neighbors, and these things must be handled with finesse.
Well, I suddenly found my weekend plans totally eliminated by a case of pink-eye. Really. But since it is notoriously contagious, claiming it would get you off the hook. However, you must then be careful not to be seen leaving the house if you want to pursue more pleasant social activities.
How do you think Brandine would feel knowing you’re making fun of her life on a public message board?
Anyway, my two cents, be friendly; there’s far too little of that in this world. Besides, being undereducated and/or having life problems doesn’t mean she’s not good enough for you, right?
Be polite, go see the pool and/or decorations, and if she tries to suck you into her troubles or make you drink cheap beer, then duck out. You may be the only person who has shown her any compassion in God knows how long. And - I bet, judging from the family situation you mentioned - you may be the only appropriate adult that Brandi-Sue has in her little sphere.
That’s how I would think of it, anyway, if it was me in your shoes. I’ve definitely been there and done that for people I maybe wouldn’t have hung out with otherwise. They’re worth a few minutes of your day, and it may mean the world to them. You never know.
Go visit her. Afterwards, invite her over to see your collection of old movie stuff. Maybe show them some obscure movie, preferably silent. That should solve the problem!
More seriously, you might turn out to like her, even if you don’t have anything much in common. And you will have done your Good Deed for the week.
Brandine and I are not “best friends forever” material. She is a smokin’, drankin’, Welfare mom who (up till now) has lived off the dole and her (parolee, married) boyfriend, even though Little Brandi-Sue Condoleezza is quite old enough for the several daycares we have in town and Brandine could be out looking for a job and providing her daughter with a role model. Oh, and their two attack dogs crap all over the yard and they never clean it up.
The first time I saw her, she was out in the backyard in a bikini, pregnant as Paddy’s pig, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and I thought, Oh, dear. I am being Decent to her, because that’s what people do. After over-enjoying herself some more, she called back, and I reassured her that everything would be all right and she was doing the right thing.
I hope everything works out for her, and that she gets a job and some self-esteem and Cletus out of her life and Brandi-Sue Condoleezza grows up to be the first female President. But, really, one can’t be friends with everyone, and I am quite old enough to know that she is one zany sitcom neighbor who would never get past my casting director. My life is godawful enough right now, I want to come home to a quiet apartment and no aggravation, not an episode of Reno 911.
Perhaps if she knew about your wonderful new job at the Child Protective Services office? Or is it Probation? That might be effective slattern neighbour repellant.
Okay, gotcha. Probably if you’re just polite in passing and don’t respond to Brandine’s drama stuff you might fade into the background of her life. I’ve known people like that (never wanting to work and loving the Jerry Springer style drama) all too well. I bet she’s much more responsive to folks who will commisserate with the drama stuff and help with caring for her children. So politeness and “No’s” to any requests will probably work.
Sorry if I was a bit snarky about it - it was late and all. Plus I get tired of people making fun of undereducated/less intelligent working class/poor people, dammit. But I definitely respect your need for lots of space between you and your drama-queen neighbor.
The Good Samaritan half of me is saying “oh go, she’s lonely and needs a friend/someone to listen to her woes” the Been There Done That half of me is saying “stay the heck away and leave well alone”. I’m thinking I’d go, then move house so she can’t contact me again…
Well, she called, late last night, to remind me if I see Cletus’ pick-up, to call the cops, and I told her to buck up, and all that pep-talk stuff. I hear the (loud) radio in the backyard, so I suppose she and Little Brandi-Sue Condoleezza are sun-bathing (who the hell still “sun bathes?!”).
They are having an outdoor flea market in town I was going to drop in on, I’ll ask her if she wants to come. Urgh. I hate doing “the right thing” with “the wrong people.”
I’ll fill you in on the decor when I get back–I’ve never been able to spend more than five minutes down there, as the air is black with smoke (everyone smokes down there, including Little Brandi-Sue Condoleezza and the two dogs).
She wants me to help her write a book. “A kinda, uplifting, positive book, like Jonathan Linvingston Seagull” (!!). Why is it when people find out I’m a writer, they haul out their manuscripts and expect me to sit down and start editing? If I were a doctor, would they lay down on my dining room table and ask for free open-heart surgery?
I told her I would be happy to answer any specific questions she had about arranging her manuscript or contacting publishers, but that I could not help her “write her book.” She wants me to come down after dinner to “chat.” She’s so lonely, the poor thing, but the minute you open your door to these Needy Lonely People, you can’t get rid of them with dynamite.
Oh, the decor? Three words: Harriet. Carter. Catalog. She also has “$6,000” (her figure) worth of Designer Barbies. At least now I know where the rest of the welfare check goes after the rent is paid . . .
Oy. I can’t just tell her to make like a hoop and roll away; she lives right downstairs. And she’s not actually evil or anything, she’s just a huge, soul-sucking Need Machine. With Designer Barbies.
I’m sunk. Better start calling moving companies right now.
Thank you. We should all chip in to help pay your moving expenses.
And I’m not a doctor, but I suspect the answer to your question is “Yes.” Or, at least, “Oh, you’re a doctor? Hey, take a look at this nasty, oozing rash for me.”
Well, she came a-knocking at my door, and despite the fact that I told her my lunch was nearly ready (which it was), she plunked down her sheaves of notes for her book. So I gave her the best advice I could give any writer: sit your ass down at a computer and start writing.
I do hope she has some friends at her church group she can latch onto . . . Seems she sees me as a “character in her book.” The cynical atheist who is Suddenly Shown the True Meaning of Life. I told her “not bloody likely, Brandine,” but that she was more than welcome to use me as a character as long as she didn’t start trying to convert me in real life to her lollipops and Barbies philosophy.
That might be effective slattern neighbour repellant.