Get The Heck Out Of Here

We were living in Virginia for about a year, in an apartment when our second child was born. It was a two bedroom with a loft, we needed more room. The timing was right and we decided to buy our first home. We searched the internet, looked at different styles of homes, price ranges and locations. We were living in Chesterfield County and decided we wanted to stay in the vicinity. Luckily my co-worker had a son in Real Estate, so I didn’t have to go searching for a good agent. We called Cornell and set up an appointment to meet and discuss our home buying plans.

We talk to Cornell, are told we need to get our ducks in a row. Mortgage pre-approval, down payment, earnest money, the whole thing. Then we can look for houses, no sense in window shopping, you are either serious about buying one or you’re not. I agree, especially the time this was, things were almost getting out of control. Luckily we got into the market before the mayhem began. We get all of our ducks in a row, we are now ready to become home owners.

We looked and looked and looked. We saw houses that were appealing on the inside but not aesthetically pleasing on the outside. Some neighborhoods that were desirable, and some that I wouldn’t want to be seen in. When you go house hunting and you see a property and/or walk into the home, you get that gut feeling of whether or not this is the place for you. Well we finally got that feeling. It was on Newbys Bridge Road. Big fenced in backyard, decent size house, long driveway and a front porch. It felt like home. We’ll take it.

We decided to be economical and do the moving ourselves. If you have the means, always hire people to do this tedious task. Moving sucks, it’s physically painful and takes a great amount of patience, of which I did not have. We finally move in, it’s a Saturday, mid afternoon, no new neighbors being nosy. We are exhausted and need to relax, time to have a beer on our new front porch. We talk about what we need to fill our new home and speculate about our new neighbors. After a few beers it’s time to hit the hay.

I wake up early, as I do almost everyday. I go downstairs to make some coffee and let the dogs out to do their business. It was a great feeling not having to walk them, to let them go out and do their business without me, a leash and a plastic bag. I could get used to this. But then as I am letting the dogs in, I hear loud and clear country music blaring from somewhere. It’s Sunday for Christs sake! It’s 6:45am! What the fuck! This better not be the welcome wagon. Now my ears are trying to assess where the twangy noise is coming from. It’s not the neighbor next door, or any of the neighbors behind us. It’s the neighbor across the street, the one directly diagonal from our house, with his pick up truck on lifts and two doors wide open with country music thumping out of them. The first thought I have is this guy can’t be serious, the second thought I have is, great, we’re fucked. Why do the assholes show up after you buy a house? What next rebel flags and white sheets? Lets sure as shit hope not.

As I go upstairs, the music stops. My wife is now awake and so are my infant children, both crying, not happy to have started the day to country. She asks me what that was about and I said I don’t have a clue, maybe I should go over there and have a chat with truck-on-lifts-country music-blaring-asshole-neighbor. She says probably not a good idea, we just moved here, lets just see what happens. My wife the Queen of Non-Confrontation. I agree, lets see how it plays out. So we get along with our day, unpacking and more unpacking.

The week goes by without incident, so we are thinking maybe he was just having a bad day and needed to blow off steam. At that early in the morning? Probably not, but no more incidents and we are now getting settled into our new home. My wife and I sit on the front porch and just observe. We watch the neighborhood go by. We really like it here, but we are wondering where is all this southern hospitality? I was expecting pies and salads and beer. Weeks go by, nothing. The neighbors wave but that’s it. And by neighbors I mean the ones that were not blasting music on a Sunday morning. So we keep on living. I’m not the type to go up and introduce myself to complete strangers, well I am but only if I get paid to do so.

A little more time passes and one of our neighbors from across the street comes over and introduced themselves. To this day they are two of the nicest people we have ever met. They kind of give us the lowdown on everyone in the block. Almost yenta-ish, but they have lived in the neighborhood the longest, so we listen. They tell us the reason they didn’t come by sooner is because they thought the “other” neighbor had “already gotten their claws into you”. I explain to them that I’m originally from New York and I don’t allow anyone get their claws into me unless I request it. Well they went down the list of all things “Yankee” and I said yes, I’m a Yankee fan, so lets move on to another subject you rednecks. We all laughed, they got my sarcasm, well almost, but most is better than none.

After getting to know the neighbors I ask them about the “other” neighbor and ask about what his deal is. Well I was told many things that day about our other neighbor, who I will now refer to as Heckland (I have changed his last name for obvious reasons). Heckland had issues, actually more like subscriptions. He was abusive, a sometimes drunk (when he had the money), resentful and just plain ignorant all this according to our new friendly southern neighbors. “Well I guess now you’ll have a problem with him as well since you are associating with us” they said. “We’ll see” I retort quickly.

The neighbors and I are getting friendlier, nightly visits to our front porch for beers and shit shooting. Sometimes not realizing how drunk we were getting and then joking about it the next morning. Life was good. All along Heckland would be staring at us in disdain or mumble something under his breath when we would walk by his driveway. I ignored the sad little man. Just to give you a picture of what he looked like, average height, maybe 5’7”-5’9”, overweight (just think beer belly), shitty tattoos and a goatee. He looked like your average Jerry Springer guest.

Time goes by very slowly in the south but before you know, Christmas is right around the corner. Heckland is decorating, and decorating, and still he’s decorating. When all is said and done the Heckland’s lawn looks like the Holiday Section at Wal-Mart threw up all over his house. Inflatable after inflatable and still another inflatable. It was the tackiest holiday I have ever seen, and I am almost excited that I get to see something so ridiculous in real life and not on the news. Christmas leads to New Year’s and so on and so forth. Spring is just around the corner and we love spring Virginia.

Heckland has been getting worse, louder music, louder mumbles being extremely passive aggressive. Calling the county zoning board about work truck, sheds and property lines. He is now getting on my nerves by trying to disrupt our neighborhood, all because he couldn’t play any reindeer games. He was left out of all the cookouts, the impromptu parties, the shit shooting-beer drinking porch sessions. So instead of being a nice guy and apologizing for being a total douche bag, he decides to be a bigger asshole. And now he crossed the line, several of them actually.

My neighbors were having a graduation party for their oldest daughter, their entire family was there as well as the entire neighborhood. Our neighbors and the Hecklands shared a driveway (it was divided, thanks to one of his many calls to the county) so you had to walk down the driveway and pass him if he was outside. He just so happened to be outside on this special day. Sitting on the gate of his truck, doors open, his stereo playing Larry The Cable Guy Live uncensored (he had two children, sorry I forgot to mention). I am walking by and my wife, who knows me so well says “don’t do anything”. I don’t say anything. I give him the look (you know that look of disgust), he looks at me and says “what the fuck are you looking at?” OK, it’s on. I tell him nothing but a low-life-wife beating-piece of shit, tell him to go fuck himself 13 ways to Sunday and ask him to hop the fence and I’ll wipe the streets with is South Paw drinkin’ ass. I say the latter knowing that there is about thirty people to back my ass up, because I ain’t no fighter.

Some of the people in the party hear this, above the din that’s going on, I can yell very loudly. They come over and I guess he decides that he is out numbered so he retreats to his backyard. Everything is quiet for awhile, people are coming up to me and thanking me, telling me they were glad that someone finally said something to that asshole. Well I’m glad it was me, you’re welcome now lets start drinking. About 20 minutes later we hear the buzzing of a chainsaw coming from Hecklands backyard. He has a six foot privacy fence so we can’t see him but we could sure hear him, just sitting there revving up the small engine making that distinct sound, annoying everyone at the party. Next think you know the police are at the party. He called the police on us!

The police show up and he put on his nice as pie routine. They are making too much noise, they are disturbing me, they are lighting firecrackers, they are, they are, they are. The police ask us what’s going on, I tell them exactly what happened (our version) and they said just keep it down, they understand what’s going on. Thank you for your time officers we will try to be more quiet. Now it’s really on! I’m gonna get him one way or another.

Well things got worse, down to him flipping us the bird and just being a fuck, if you know what I mean. One night, after I arrived home from work, we decide to hang out on our porch, like we did almost every night. The usual suspects come over. We are all sitting there talking, just having a good time. Then I notice something out of the corner of my eye, I quickly look but it’s gone. Then I see it again, I look to my left and there it is. A red dot, like a dot from a laser, dancing on my house. Then it disappears. I ask the others if they saw it and they said yes. Now I was told that Heckland has guns, he hunts, so that might be a laser scope for a rifle, just call the police. Nope not yet. I yell across the street and tell him to do it one more time, I dare him, I triple dog dare him. If he does it one more time I will be over there to drag is ass into the middle of the street and we can finish this like men. Nothing, but no more laser. Good.

I stand up to go inside and get refills for everyone, there was never BYOB in our neighborhood. You wanted something you just went inside to get it. They weren’t home? No problem you used the back door, it was always open, you got what you needed and made sure you closed the door behind you, that’s how we did it on Newbys Bridge Road. I open the door and there it is, in my house, that fucking red dot on my foyer wall. That’s it, I’m going over there and settle this once and for all. Call it beer muscles, call it crazy, but it just had to be done.

I put down the beer, go over to his driveway and call his ass out. At this point I’m not shot so all is good to me. Everyone else is a bit freaked out by all of this. I’m yelling calling him every profane word I can think of, demanding that he get off his property and meet me in the street. Or at least at the end of his driveway, so I can drag him in the middle of the street and shove that laser so far up his hooha that they would need one of those gloves that you inseminate horses with. Now to my surprise both my neighbors are standing behind me and then I see another one of our neighbors, who I referred to as the serial killer, behind closed doors of course. You know the type, loner, living with mom, in his mid 40’s, driving an unassuming sedan, basic clothing could blend with the congregation and when he gets caught everyone on the newscast says I had no idea. Well he is standing there with the biggest fucking Mag Lite I have ever seen and says, just thought you might need some help. Holy shit! I almost had a come to Jesus moment right then and there. But apparently he doesn’t like Heckland either. Hallelujah!

We call the police, they show up, tell them the entire story, from music blasting on a Sunday morning until the present. They suggest we go to the magistrate, file a complaint, noise or otherwise and see what happens from there. Then they go over and talk to Heckland and within a few moments they come back to us and say”what an asshole, sorry you have to put up with him”. Seriously? Did the officer just call Heckland an asshole? Can they even do that? Apparently so. The officer reiterates what to do and practically tells us what to tell the magistrate. Well, looks like we have a trip to the courthouse in the very near future.

We gather up our things and head out to the Chesterfield County Courthouse. Find the Magistrates office, fill out a form and give it to the secretary. We were there for maybe ten minutes and then we are asked into the magistrates office. We explain the situation, he asks all three of us if this is true and asks us to swear to him that this is the whole truth, so help us. Yes, yes and yes. He signs the complaint and says it will be sent to the Commonwealth Attorney’s office and we should be hearing something about the case in the near future. Case? Really? Awesome!

Since I am the main complainant, the Commonwealth attorney calls me and asks for a bit more background. I explain that it’s not just me but the entire neighborhood. All this over noise? Yes, obnoxious noise. He agrees to take this in front of a judge. Say what? A judge? I thought he was going to get a small fine, not go in front of a judge. I ask him what could happen to him, the attorney says he could get a fine of up to $1500. Heckland doesn’t have a pot to piss in and barely a window to throw it out of. The attorney says we should get as many people as we can from the neighborhood to come to court on that day. I say no problem. I hang up the phone and go over to my neighbors house to tell them the news. They are all shocked. We are besides ourselves, this mother fucker is gonna get his.

He gets served, he is pissed, I watch this unfold from my front porch. The sheriff leaves and he gives me the finger and I fly two fingers back at him. The next few weeks were a bit comical, we were being super nice, waving and saying good morning. We couldn’t wait for this court date. This was going to be the highlight of our year. Our neighbors were busy getting other neighbors to come forward with stories about Heckland. And boy did they come out of the woodwork.

We get to court that morning, I meet with the commonwealth attorney in his office and he exxplains the procedure, we don’t need to say anything unless the judge asks us, he’ll see downstairs. Well we were downstairs, in full force. We were all dressed in our best going to court attire. Blue collar workers in suits, women who never wear dresses wearing dresses. The defendant, Heckland, dressed in, get this a canary yellow pocket t-shirt, jean shorts and work boots with bright white socks. He was not coming form work, he was unemployed at the time. I think he was dressed for sympathy, or maybe that was his best outfit, I have no idea nor did I give a shit. This was perfect!

Our case gets called, we all stand up, all twenty two of us, that’s right, twenty two people showed up to testify against this asshole. The Judge, the court officers and Heckland’s lawyer could not believe what they saw. Heckland couldn’t believe what he saw. The judge and the lawyers talk, the Judge looks at Heckland and asks if there was anything he wanted to say, he turns to me and says, “I’m sorry if I caused anyone any problems, I’m sorry”. What? I snicker very loudly, and the judge banged his gavel and decorum returns to the courtroom.

The judge is ready for his decision and boy did we not expect what we just heard. The judge was harsh, he fined Heckland $1000 and 30 days of suspended jail time. Twenty two jaws dropped to the floor, seriously, we were all in amazement. Did he just fine him $1000 and suspended jail time for violation of a noise ordinance? Yes, he sure did, I just have found my new hero. The judge gives him 30 days to pay his fine or go to jail. Case closed. We won, and we won big. Now maybe we can live a quiet existence on Newbys Bridge Road. We all convene outside and share our happiness and disbelief. Maybe now Heckland will behave.

Maybe not. It was quiet, no loud music, but he was a belligerent bastard. Cursing and giving us the finger every chance he could. So I cursed back, and flipped him of as well, I know a bit juvenile, but you know what, it was fun. A few weeks go by and we get a notice in the mail that Heckland appealed the case! What? We had no idea that you could appeal, so we make a phone call to the Commonwealth Attorney, he says yes, it’s a one shot deal and after this he has to accept his fate. Round 2 ensues.

The following court date arrives and we all show up again, this time only eighteen show up, but still a strong showing. Heckland shows up in khaki’s and a button down shirt and tie. This time he has a paid lawyer, apparently you have to hire a lawyer if you are going to appeal as opposed to getting one appointed to you. The lawyer is talking to the Commonwealth attorney and then they ask me and my neighbor to speak with us privately. I wonder what this is all about. We go into the private room located in the back of the courtroom and his lawyer says “Mr. Heckland is getting employment outside of the state, he will be moving, he will no longer be living in your neighborhood would you agree to drop the case?” Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit! I say “How soon? Like next week, next month or next year, when?”
His lawyer says soon, the Commonwealth attorney says we need a date, go talk to your client and get back to us.

A few minutes later he gets back to us and says thirty days. Really? Heckland will be gone in thirty days? We’ll take it. The Commonwealth attorney says we will take this in front of the judge and take it form there. Well we get in front of the judge and the lawyers are talking, and the judge is listening intently. The judge asks Heckland if this is true, Heckland squeaks out, yes your honor. The judge says the following “Mr. Heckland, according to you you have employment in a different sate, I order you to be out of your neighborhood in 45 days. If you are fully gone in 45 days this case will be dropped. If you are there in 45 days you will pay a fine of $1500 and spend thirty days in jail. So, Mr. Heckland I am taking your word and please take mine. If you are there one day past the 45 day mark you will be in trouble. When you move and if you forget anything and need to go back and it’s past the 45 day mark, think twice about going to get it. You have lots of neighbors here whose lives you have disrupted one way or another. They will alert the police if you are there past the 45 day mark. Good luck to you and your family in the future Mr. Heckland.” Did I just hear that? Double holy shit! Did he just get himself kicked out of the neighborhood? Yes, I think he did.

Well within a few days of the judge’s tongue lashing, his house was up for sale and he was almost non existent in our neighborhood. We didn’t hear anything from him, occasionally he would give us the finger but we all took it in stride. Heckland was no longer an issue. He made it out in less than 45 days, and we watched him pack up a moving van all from the confines of my front porch. Beer in hand we waved goodbye!

Po-white

The Vice President of the company I worked for is at the back of the room, talking to our Regional Manager. I know what they are talking about, I have had my suspicions for months now. We are waiting for everyone to get here, talking amongst ourselves, chatting about the inevitable. The regional robot talks about how sad this is, how we are a ll valuable and wishes us luck in our future endeavors. Then the Vice President gets up and says that companies make mistakes, we are closing this market, but we are growing our company in other major markets. If anyone wanted to stay with the company we should see him at the end of this meeting.

Most people were done, didn’t want to move their family, they were happy where they were. I on the other hand wanted to get out, we needed a change, because living in the tourist capital of the world wasn’t fun anymore. The meeting comes to an end, I walk up the the V.P. And we have a brief discussion. I could choose where I wanted to go. Really? That was a great offer, but for me some of the locations had automatic catches.

I’m from New York and a huge Yankee fan, so relocating to a place that had Fenway Park and Yankee haters that were overflowing like a crock of baked beans, Boston was out of the question. Another choice was Pittsburgh. Need I say more. While I’m sure Pittsburgh is a wonderful city, I was there on a road trip in college and had a great time, I didn’t think Pittsburgh was the right fit for us. Next option was the Washington D.C/Richmond,VA area. We had family that lived in the D.C. area, so I decided to do more research.

I book a flight from Orlando to Dulles and also book a rental car online. My flight had a layover in Atlanta, no big deal, I got a cheap flight, what did I expect. Well that layover ended up being a four hour delay. I don’t get into Dulles until 10:45pm. Then I have to get my bag and catch a shuttle to the rental car facility. Luckily they are still open, but there is a line and everyone is on a cell phone telling everyone on the other end that they are running late, myself included. I finally get to the counter with all my vitals and then what happens next really pissed me off.

The man behind the counter informs me that my credit card is declined and that they will not give me a car but rather a free ride back to the terminal to catch a cab to where I need to go. I said that there is a mistake, I booked it online 2 days earlier, ask him to swipe the card again, he refuses tells me that no company is going to rent me a car. I am not the most patient person on the planet, some would even say that I have a short fuse. I have spent years in customer service, I know the drill, so I ask for the manager. He says he is the only one on duty and there is nothing I can do about it. He says get out, he needs to help the next customer. I am now screaming profanities (yes, I know I should not have been doing that, but I was fucking pissed). We will see about this.

I take my bag, walk outside and see another, more famous (if you can be famous in the rental car business), company right next door. I walk through the gates, get to the counter and ask the woman what the most expensive car they have on the lot right now, because that’s the one I want (knowing in the back of my head that I am not going to pay for it). She looks at me as if I were crazy and asks me why. I tell her the whole story, and she said, that is crazy and the most expensive on the lot right now is a big giant SUV. I’ll take it. She runs my credit card and guess what, it was approved! I fill out all the necessary forms and I’m on my way.

The next stop, the original rental car place. I pull up, walk in and ask him how does he like them apples, asshole! I then get all of his vitals and I start making phone calls at midnight no less. Well there is no customer service agents that can help me with my specific issue at this time of night but I’m informed that they will take down my information and someone will get back to me tomorrow morning. OK, sure, yeah right, you’ll get back to me, ha! I’m now on my way to my sister-in-laws house and have a strange felling that I’m going to get lost. I don’t like driving to new places at night. You’re not sure where you’re going and the lighting always sucks where you need it most. Try driving on the Beltway, that merges and merges and merges, at midnight with shitty directions. This day has to end.

I arrive almost 6 hours past my scheduled arrival, get ready to go to bed and then out like a light. I wake up the next morning have some coffee and no shit, my cell phone rings. I check the caller ID and it’s someone I don’t know, I answer it and I can’t believe it, It’s the shitty rental car company. The man on the other end is from their “Presidential Customer Care” division. He wanted to know everything again, I reiterate the story and he says he will get back to me with in the next few hours. Sure he will. I am now looking at different apartment brochures, trying to figure out a plan. After talking to my sister-in-law’s husband I decide that the DC area is way overcrowded and way out of line when it comes to rent and the cost of living. He told me he has to drive eleven miles to his office and it takes him about 35-45 minutes. Thanks but no thanks.

So I decide to head on down to Richmond. A mere ninety miles, the Capital of the South (well at least back in the day), this is going to be an adventure. This is before GPS was standard in cars, this was a you-need-to-mapquest-everything-and-then-get-lost-and-ask-for-directions kind of adventure. Sounds fun right? Well it was to me, but I must tell you, I hate, and I mean hate getting lost. Now I know you’re not really lost, just temporarily off track, misplaced if you will. But for me that feeling of not knowing where the hell you are is not one I enjoy having. Back to my adventure. I decide to go to the furthest apartment first and then work my way back.

I get on the road and I’m driving South on 95, figuring out what the real speed limit, not the posted one. I hope you know what I mean. Well I get to Fredricksburg and the phone rings, I look to see who it is, low and behold, it’s the shitty rental car company. They did some research and found out that the guy I was dealing with at the counter wasn’t even a manger, her was the cleaning supervisor. No shit the fucking cleaning supervisor. They apologized and asked what they could do to make it up to me. Well I told them that taking care of the rental I’m driving would suffice. He said he would get back to me and did not think that would be a problem. I didn’t think so. Off to Richmond.

I get to Richmond, not thinking much of it because the views of most cities from 95 tend not to be the most picturesque and appealing. I find that I have to drive just a bit more to get to my first destination. I get off and drive down another parkway, I see rolling hills, trees, lots and lots of trees. It starts to remind me of parts of Westchester County (New York). I’m already liking it. I get off the exit I’m supposed to get off and travel down another long hilly road. I check the map and by the looks of it, I’m almost there. I see the lake that this apartment complex is talking about, make my turn and arrive at what I think will be our new home. I meet with a leasing agent, she shows me around, tells me about the amenities, and gives me an application and more reading material. I tell her I like this place, but have more to see and could she help me with directions. She said sure, I tell her where I need to go next and she tells me to avoid 95 and take the Powhite. She pronounced it Po-white, not Pow-hite. She also neglected to tell me that the Po-white is a toll road, but more on that in a bit.

I have no idea what a Powhite is. It sounds Native American, maybe something to do with Powhatan Indians. But right now I just need to find the Po-white Parkway to get to my next destination. I find it, get on the ramp for the direction I need to travel, completely neglecting to read the sign that says toll road. I am on the parkway for about 4 minutes and then I see a sign that say Toll Ahead. Ever since the invention of a debit card with a credit card logo, I do not carry cash. So now I begin to panic. It’s only a fifty cent toll, what are they going to do, throw me in jail? Nonetheless I still panic because I don’t want a ticket. I have no choice but to pull up to the cash lane and explain to the person in that cramped little booth that I’m not from these parts, using my best New York accent of course. I roll the window down, tell her I don’t have any money, I’m not from here and I’m just Po-white. I couldn’t believe what just came out of my mouth, I said I’m Po-white. The response was almost immediate, she looked at me laughing and said, “I’ve been doing this job for almost five years and I never heard that excuse, ever”. I ask her if that’s a good thing and she didn’t say anything, just threw fifty cents in the coin catcher and I was on my way.