Noisy Neighbor Problems Part 2

We just finished a meeting of the HOA Board of Directors, which turned into a civilized version of the Mississippi Free For All!


Our HOA Board of (mis)Directors:

• Madame President, Retired school teacher and Lady of all Herself surveys.
• Mortimer, the next door neighbor who has to put up with Tyrone
• HiFlyer, a Chaplin by profession and an irritant by nature
• Ms. Sanity, A generally quiet, intelligent woman that I'd like to get to know better
• Little QT, A small, very quiet woman who doesn't want to piss anyone off. She thinks Tyrone is Trouble, with a capital Tee.
• Fencepost, lives next to Tyrone and is so deaf she wouldn't hear an atomic explosion at 3:00 AM. She likes Tyrone and is outspoken about it. I think she may be having Mandingo fantasies.

Present at the Board of Directors Executive Session (Mister Fuckup's words, not mine) were also:

• Mister Fuckup, the property manager who I trust about as far as I can piss into the wind. He's an ex-cop, and after talking to him for a while I understand why he's an EX-cop.
• Guest One, a black lady who lives near Tyrone and is also disturbed by Tyrone's activities.

Prior to the official start of the meeting, Mister Fuckup asked Madame President if she'd managed to get a Columbus PD Officer to be present during the meeting.  She said that she tried, but the PD made no promises.  All of these people are over 65, and out of all them I'm the most physically fit. Think about that for a second.

For reasons best known to Herself, Mister Fuckup (MF for short) called the meeting to order.  The asshole then read the previous minutes, which as usual were screwed up. HiFlyer made a motion to skip the usual folderol and get right to the point.  Or words to that effect.  Someone seconded, and there was a resounding Yea from everyone except Fencepost, who can't hear what's going on and wouldn't understand most of it if she could.

Mister Fuckup started in by lying about Mortimer. By the third blatant lie in as many breaths, I'd had enough and spoke up.

"That just isn't true."

Then the name calling and finger pointing contest started, and I'll give old Mort credit. When Mister Fuckup accused him of being a racist, Mort lit into him like a pissed off Doberman after a food-stealing alley cat.

I won't bore everyone with the details, but after being harangued and harassed by Mort and I, The Board blinked. The Ms. Sanity spoke up.

"What is clear to me is that Tyrone does not fit the local demographic. We're a quiet, sedate neighborhood. He is not. He doesn't fit in here."

What followed was another, more sedate version of the traditional finger pointing, name calling contest that everyone over 25 has been a part of since fire was invented. At the end of the day, Ms. Sanity repeated herself.

Mister Fuckup asked Mort what he wanted to see happen. Most said, "Fine 'em. Hit 'em where it hurts."

They were reluctant.  Mort insisted.  At the end of the day the board agreed, very reluctantly, to fine Tyrone's parents (who actually own the place) and Mort agreed to contact the local Persecutor to see what else could be done.

Then yours truly asked a question of Madame President: Is Tyrone mentally ill?

She prevaricated, giggled, and almost lied.  I rescued her.

"Okay, that means 'yes'.  Now, what's he been diagnosed with?  Is he schizophrenic?"

That precipitated more prevarication and tap dancing, so I quietly took it as another affirmative.


Now we'll see what happens.

As for me, I'm going to get Mort a DB meter, tell him to set up his camera to display the date-time, and when it happens again, get some digital evidence.  All he needs is a few photos of the DB meter and the location in the background.

Now here's the kicker.  Please pay attention to this one.

Mortimer and Persephone, who live next door to Tyrone, are fairly timid folks.  They don't own guns, and I believe they're afraid of firearms.  They're also afraid of Tyrone, so much so that they won't drive into their own driveway if he's outside pretending to be busy on something.

Knowing this, right after the meeting as we're all walking across the parking lot, Mister Fuckup eases up to Mort and says that he's heard Tyrone is trying to buy a gun.

Do you believe this shit?

Mort had the presence of mind to ask MF how he knew this, and MF wouldn't answer.  Mort called and told me about it, and I told him that MF was full of shit.  This is the kind of asshole that MF is.

Now, I have an Ohio CCW license, and I carry my pistol as I see fit.  I think MF is full of shit, but... I'm packing.  I think I'll invest in a little bear repellent or pepper spray, you know, just in case.

I looked up Tyrone on the Franklin County Persecutor's site today, and he's got a nice record of misdemeanors including menacing.  He used to live with his parents, but they bought him this place so they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.

Stay tuned for more drama from Columbus, Ohio, where every day's a holiday, every meal's a picnic, and happy hour starts at 1:00.