The Alanis Morissette School of Irony and the Road Less Travelled
I think I have mentioned my neighbo(u)rhood before. By Ottawa standards, it's the wrong side of the tracks. It's urban. Gritty. The hood.
Actually, most (50%) of the people in my part of the neighbo(u)rhood are like me: living in the cheapest (read: most reasonably priced) part of the city so they can someday move out and buy a dog. Okay, maybe I am the only one working towards the dog-related goal, but you get the idea. About 49% are people trying to raise their families and make ends meet the best ways they know how. I may not walk down my street alone at midnight, but I also think that walking down any street alone at midnight in this day and age is just a really stupid idea wherever you live. However, there is a small segment (1%) of the population who I don't really consider to be my peers and for whom I have very little respect. Namely, the couple who live nextdoor who insist on having domestic disputes on the front lawn.
My parents were here for Easter. On Easter Sunday morning, shortly after the eggs had been hunted and the chocolate bunnies had met their proverbial makers, my dad was treated to an introductory short course on domestic bliss, courtesy the Eminem impersonator in the building next door and his beloved..., um, beloved. Now, I am not a particularly religious person, but I do think that there is something to be said for quiet reflection on a sunny spring morning, and quiet reflection was not what the couple nextdoor had in mind. The screaming went on for a good 15 minutes, right there on the front lawn, for all the pious citizens of Vanier (a historically Catholic centre) to hear on their way to Easter mass.
I had heard their arguments before, but this one was definitely an escalation in aggression.
Since then, I have been woken up no less than a dozen times to a drunken brawl in the streets. They both give as good as they get, and I plea bystander apathy by not phoning it in as a noise disturbance.
"You &*%$#ing @$$hole!"
"You &*%$#ing wh0r3!"
Accusations of infidelity fly, but the English language is the only real victim of abuse. They sober up, and continue playing happy families until the next weekend. I have almost come to set my clocks by it.
This afternoon, I was treated to the following snippet of conversation:
Eminem Impersonator: Man, I don't &*%$#ing know why they [I assume he means the other people living in their building] think that whenever they [I assume he means the police] show up here it's over some domestic s#|+.
Beloved: Wha? [There was no "T" sound in her utterance]
Impersonator: Yeah. I was like[[mumbling]] and they [neighbo(u)rs] thought they [police] were here because of our argument last week, but [takes long drag on cigarette] that's bull s#|+! Like, [[mumbling]].
I wanted to yell out the window. I wanted to run downstairs and scream at them. You Idiots! Maybe if you weren't threatening to kill each other every week people wouldn't think you were trying to kill each other every week! Why the hell are you staying together? For the pitbull? (They really do own one.) I don't get it. I really don't get it. Okay, maybe I have my suspicions: neither of them seem to be gainfully employed, since they can spend the entire summer in the alley way barbecuing and drinking beer; neither of them seem particularly intelligentk, since their vocabularies are heavily subsidized by variations of the term "to fornicate"; they spend an aful lot of time (ergo money) binge drinking. But what makes two people stay together in spite of such apparent misery? I have never heard uncontrollable laughter tumble out of their doorway. When they smoke on the front porch, they don't share the cigarette; they don't even look at one another when they talk. I can only assume that they air their dirty laundry in public, but keep their fresh clean linens to themselves. I just know that wouldn't be enough for me.
Disclaimer: Life throws curveballs. I am intimately familiar with this. Things don't always work out the way you planned, and I understand that. But I cannot respect the person who doesn't try to make the most of what they have. The person who simply does not try. I realise that our pasts shape who we are, but I also believe in free will and human resilience. At the end of the day, we all make choices. And we are all capable of making sacrifices to make better choices. I am hopeful that the young Mr. and Mrs. Eminem will eventually make the right choice, but I also have a right to be skeptical.
Comments
My theories:
1) Some people aren't happy unless they are miserable and have something to complain about
2) Some people would rather keep what they have and know vs be alone, or shake their world up. They're apathetic.
3) Some people think that what they have isn't so bad and it could be worse ("well at least all he does is swear at me. He's never actually hit me")so why change it
4) Some people think that this is it - this is the best they get. It's what their parents had, and what all their friends have, and what their siblings have. It's normal, and not to be questioned (which also tends to lead them back to 3).
Not being someone who can even imagine themselves in that kind of relationship, this is just speculation on my part. Because I certainly cannot even fathom putting up with that kind of behaviour - or even meeting the type of person that would lead me to enter a relationship in the first place (even briefly).
Shudder.
Posted by: heather at May 17, 2005 12:13 PM
But if they shared their smokes, they'd only be getting half the sweet, sweet nicotine, which would probably lead to more arguing due to a lack of a sufficient 'fix'.
You should consider yourself lucky, some people are willing to drive all the way to Chicago (the home of the Jerry Springer Show) for what you have right in your front lawn.
Posted by: Mike at May 18, 2005 12:40 AM