White Trash

Okay, I'm not a person who deals with change very well. So let's just say that when our neighbors moved last week, I was not a happy camper. Tom and Diane have lived next door for about five years. Maybe more...I don't want to sound stalker-ish by giving an exact time period. Tom and Diane are an older couple, and they live a different lifestyle than us, but they are good people and have been good neighbors and friends. Granted, they had three wiener dogs that yapped constantly and are the only animals that I've really felt violent toward, and Tom was a bit of hoarder (we teased him that he was building an ark like Noah), but Tom and Diane have always been there for us and willing to help us out when needed. Because I liked Tom and Diane, I didn't carry out any of the evil plans I had in mind for their dogs. In fact, I even helped rescue one of their dogs once when he got attacked by a pit bull, and I always herd the dogs back to their yard when they escape. Anyway, Tom and Diane were renting the house, and the guy they were renting from is currently in the middle of a messy divorce. As part of the divorce, the ex-wife got Tom and Diane's house. She moved in last weekend. Tom and Diane have not spoken very favorably of this woman, but Nic and I really had intentions to give her the benefit of the doubt. We have to live next door to her after all, so we pledged to be good neighbors. We tried, I swear, we tried!

Our new neighbor, who we now affectionately call Crazy Lady, is quite the character. She has bleached yellow hair, worn, leathery skin, and is missing many of her teeth. She looks twenty years older than she really is. Here is where I get in trouble: she meets the stereotype of white trash in every way. She likes to wander around her yard in very little clothing and when her ex-husband is around, the whole neighborhood knows it because of all the shouting and shrieking that she does.
Here is the first encounter that I had with her:
She came knocking on my door on Monday afternoon. Let it be noted that in an effort to be a good neighbor, I noticed that she hadn't taken her trash out that day, and the garbage cans were very full. I figured, her being new and all, she didn't know that Monday was trash day, so I took her garbage to the curb for her. Let it be noted, that any time I take any garbage cans to the curb it is like watching an amateur wrestle an alligator. The garbage cans usually win. But I was trying to be nice (a rarity for me)! Here is the conversation that we had:
Me: Hello.
Crazy Lady (CL): Is Bill here?
Me: Uh, there is no one by the name of Bill here. My husband's name is Nic.
CL: Oh. I must have the wrong house.
Me: I don't know of any Bill's in the neighborhood.
CL: Oh. Well, it looks like the garbage must have come because my cans are tipped over.
Me (trying to be helpful): Yeah, the garbage man comes on Mondays. Regular garbage is usually earlier in the morning, and recycling later in the afternoon.
CL: Well, I checked my mailbox earlier and there wasn't anything.
Me: Right. The mailman comes around two.
CL: Oh, you must be thinking (here she mentions another city).
Me: No, I'm talking about (I name our city where we are currently residing).
CL: Because in _______________ the trash is on Tuesday.
Me: We live in __________________, so the trash goes on Monday.
CL: But it hasn't come yet.
Me: The garbage man has come already.
CL: But the mailbox is empty.
Me (completely confused): Are we talking mail or garbage here?
CL (changing the subject): What's your name?
Me: Oh, sorry. I'm Jolene. Nice to meet you.
CL: Your name isn't Katie? I thought your name was Katie.
Me: Nope, it's Jolene.
CL: But Diane told me Katie. I could have swore she said your name is Katie.
Me: Well, it's Jolene.
CL: Katie?
Me (attempting not to get confused again): Jolene!
CL: What time does church start.
Me (flustered): 11:00.
CL (knows what time church starts because she has asked my husband a couple of times previous to this encounter): 11:00?
Me: Oh! Sorry, I mean 1:00. We went to a different ward last week, so I have 11:00 on my brain.
CL: Why are you going to a different church? What's wrong with this one?
Me: Nothing. We were just visiting another ward for a missionary farewell.
CL: Oh. I have so much work to do at my house. You would not believe...I was up until three in the morning last night unpacking.
Me (trying to be conversational despite my confusion and the many abrupt topic changes): I believe it! That's why my husband and I don't want to move anytime soon. It's so much work!
CL: Yeah, I have so many heavy boxes. I could really use some help moving the heavy stuff around.
--Awkward pause as Crazy Lady waits for me to volunteer--
CL: Do you know of anyone who could come help me move my heavy boxes around?
Me: Not really.
Exit Crazy Lady.
I was left standing at my door, completely confused, not sure what my name is or where I live!

Second encounter with Crazy Lady occurred later that evening. We had Tom and Diane over for a farewell dinner, and right in the middle of dinner, there was a knock at our door. It was Crazy Lady wanting to know if my husband could come hook up her DVD player to her TV because she just couldn't figure it out. Nic told her we were in the middle of something right then but that he could come later in the evening. So that night, after we put Sam down for the night, we went over to Crazy Lady's house. Nic made me come so that he wouldn't be alone with Crazy Lady. Safety first! The house was trashed! I understand that moving in is messy, but this was a disaster area. Two things immediately assaulted my little pregnant nose--first, the strong smell of cigarette smoke, and second, the kitchen counter was entirely covered with raw shrimp. Suddenly I was nervous because my husband is deathly allergic to shell fish. When we got home, I made him scrub up to his elbows and brush his teeth a couple of times. I mean, it was like I took him onto a shrimp boat! Anyway, I tried to make casual conversation with Crazy Lady while Nic hooked up the DVD player to one of the four TVs in the room. It was the funniest thing to watch. It was like watching a calf roper at a rodeo. Nic had those machines hooked up in less than one minute, and I swear he threw his hands up in the air when he was done. We made a quick retreat with Nic the entire time doing full body shivers. He kept repeating, "That lady gives me the heebie jeebies!"

Third encounter: Friday morning, 7:40 a.m.
Sam had just barely awaken, and we were all just lounging on the bed. Suddenly, there is pounding on our door. Nic said, "Who is that?" then looking out the window and seeing that it was Crazy Lady standing on our porch with nothing but a T-shirt on, said, "We don't answer the door before 8:00." Unfortunately, Crazy Lady wasn't accepting that. She pounded on the door again and then moved to the front door. Finally, Nic went and answered the door. Here is their conversation:
Nic (with no greeting): Do you know what time it is?
CL: Uh...
Nic: It isn't even 8:00 in the morning yet!
Cl: Oh. Can I use your phone?
Nic: No! Have a nice day!
Door shuts. A couple hours later, I see Crazy Lady chatting away on a home phone in her drive way.

Fourth encounter: Late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, Crazy Lady hits my car parked in our driveway. Nic discovers it Sunday morning around 10:00 a.m. He took some pictures of the dent and broken back fender, and then some pictures of her car with a matching dent and scratch. He attempted to go over and talk to Crazy Lady, but she wouldn't open her door. She was obviously home, but wouldn't come to the door. So, to cover our bases, we called dispatch and had a police officer come over to file the report. Crazy Lady reluctantly came to the door for the police officer and claimed that she was scared that it was her crazy ex-husband (who incidentally had just been over earlier helping her do some things around her house) and that's why she didn't answer. At first, she wouldn't admit to hitting my car (even though my car has a red stripe that matches her car and her car has a matching gold stripe from my car), but eventually admitted that it was possible that she hit my car. She said that it was dark and that she had just thought that she had hit this wooden plank in her driveway.
These encounters have all been just in this first week of being new neighbors.

Okay, so all of this information is just background info to the heart of the matter. While we were filling out reports, it started raining, so Nic invited the police officer to step inside. I had just barely threw on some clothes (at Nic's suggestion), so that I was no longer running around in my bath robe, but my hair was a mess and I had no make-up on. Nic was wearing some sweats and an old T-shirt. Sam was in his crib crying because his nap time was so chaotic at the moment. The kitchen was messy from the combination of a busy Saturday and a busy toddler. (I have this theory that the only time that other people ever come to my house is when it is a mess. When I keep my house clean, I don't see a soul!) Outside our kitchen door, is all this junk piled up that belongs to Tom. He's supposed to come pick it up anytime now. It's all just junk, but, like I said, Tom is a hoarder. And our front and back yard is completely torn apart and is currently just a lot of mud in anticipation for the new yard that we're trying to put in for the boys.
After the police officer left, I suddenly felt so embarrassed. I figured he probably just saw this whole situation as a little squabble between two white trash neighbors. It doesn't help matters, that the people across the street from us had a drug deal going while the police officer was dealing with our car issue. The police officer sat in his car and watched the drug deal, and then when the car started to pull out of the neighborhood, he pulled them over and arrested the people in the car. I felt so embarrassed and angry about it all. I mean, I know that we're red necks. I am using Sam's BB gun as part of the decor in my living room, after all. But we're not white trash! My husband and I both have our master's degrees, and we try to be contributing members of the community. And this neighborhood is not white trash. We're an older community, and we're not all ritzy by any means, but we have good neighbors, good people all around us, and we all try to be respectful of one another. But recently, in a house kiddy corner to us, a young guy is living there and there have been issues with partying and drugs going on there. And I don't know what was up with the people across the street, but they're definitely going to hear from us! I feel like the neighborhood is going downhill, and I'm ready to crusade to save it. These are not the kinds of things I want going on in a neighborhood where my little boys are growing up! I almost want to create some pamphlets that describe the standard of living we expect in this neighborhood and take it around to all the neighbors. Maybe I will get dubbed 'Crazy Lady'.
Anyway, so I was having this dilemma Sunday morning, because I felt like I was being judged as white trash. But then I felt bad because I realized that I was judging Crazy Lady as white trash. Such a moral dilemma. What does the scripture say? Judge not that ye be not judged...or something like that. It doesn't help matters that as I was trying to describe my moral dilemma to Nic, I was standing barefoot in the kitchen, wearing just a dress slip, and eating fruit salad directly out of the serving bowl. So I think tonight, we'll try to take over some muffins or something to welcome Crazy Lady to the neighborhood. We'll see how things go!