Human Goes Missing: No One Notices. Dog Goes Missing: Search And Rescue!

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 17, 2018

The dog we had growing up was the sweetest, friendliest dog you could imagine. He loved people, and all of our neighbours knew him and loved him back. They didn’t know our names, but they knew our dog.

At one point we needed to move to another state temporarily for my dad’s work, and took the dog with us. Six months later my mum, sister, and I returned home to spend Christmas with our family and ran into one of our neighbours.

He came up to us and said he hadn’t seen our dog for a while, had he died? Mum had to inform him that no, the dog was very much alive, we’d just been living on the other side of the country for the last few months.

They had noticed our dog was no longer around and coming to visit, but none of them had noticed that our house was empty and my family wasn’t living there or going about our daily business.

Homeowners Rejoice, As Method For Dealing With Nosy Neighbors Is A Logger-Rhythm

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 7, 2018

(I’ve had several gum trees removed from my property at different times over the past few years, each by different companies. Every company I’ve dealt with has charged a fee to remove the logs. You obviously also have to pay for logs that you want to purchase from the shops… so if you have a use for them yourself, it would be insane to pay to remove them then pay to replace them when you want them. Some people don’t understand this, and like everything, people always want something for nothing. I work from home with my one-year-old. It gets pretty hectic, but she and I manage to have a pretty good time out of it. It does mean that sometimes it takes a while to get outdoorsy jobs done, though. We had a tree pulled down a few weeks back, and carting the loads from the front to back has taken some time as they’re massive and I just move a bit during my child’s nap. My husband is guiltless in this one, as he’s been absolutely swamped with work, so I have no problem doing it on my own, slowly. I get a knock on the door one day.)

Woman: “Are you using those logs?”

Me: “Um, hello! I will be, yes.”

Woman: “But they’ve been there weeks.”

Me: “Yes, they have.”

Woman: “Will you use them all? I want them.”

Me: “Sorry, but I will be using them all.”

Woman: “Do you have a fire? I have a fire. I need them.”

Me: “Sorry, but tough. I will be using them.”

Woman: “You could buy more.”

Me: “So could you.”

Woman: “What about that pile?”

Me: “They’re accounted for, too.”

Woman: “For your fire?”

Me: “For my friend. Look, sorry, but we’re going in circles here.”

Woman: “So, if they’re still there in a while, can I take them?”

Me: *thinking it’ll shut her up* “Yep, sounds good.”

(She promptly left, looking satisfied. And that’s the story of how I called in a favour for some babysitting so I could move around fifteen wheelbarrow loads around the back in one day. The muscles I’ve surely improved, not to mention the look I imagine on her face, made it totally worth it.)

Kindness Doesn’t Take Half-Days

, , , , , , | Hopeless | November 3, 2018

When I was seven, my family moved to a new house, which was the first house of a new development. By the time school started, a few other families had moved into other houses, but we hadn’t gotten the chance to meet them yet.

One day our school had a half-day, and we were all sent home early. The school bus dropped me off and I happily skipped home, ready to enjoy my extra time off. When I reached my house, I suddenly realized no one was home to greet me. I was always losing things, so my parents never gave me a key. I was scared and cold, and had no way of getting inside, so I did the only thing I could think of: I hid behind a bush in the garden and cried.

I don’t know how long I was there, but it was long enough that I couldn’t cry anymore and my hands were numb. That’s when a strange man approached me. He started asking me questions. “What’s your name?” “Where are your parents?” “Do you need help?” I didn’t answer any of his questions; I just kept shaking my head no, since I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. He walked away, and I started to cry again. I was even more scared because I thought someone was going to take me.

A while later the man came back, and I was scared stiff. I thought for sure he was going to take me away. Instead, he silently and slowly handed me a cell phone; cells weren’t too common back then. When I answered the phone, I heard my dad’s voice on the other side. We exchanged our “secret passcode,” and he told me the man was our neighbor. He was a good person, and was going to take me to a demo house where I could wait until my dad could get me.

Once I hung up and handed the phone back, my neighbor smiled at me and took me over to his house. We spent a few minutes there as he warmed me up with a blanket, some hot chocolate, and a few cookies. Once I was warm and happy, he took me to the demo house where a woman greeted me. She sat with me for an hour and taught me how to use a Rubik’s cube until my dad finally came and picked me up.

Years later, I found out everything that happened. The school had never informed the parents that there was a half-day, and they were sued for neglect. My neighbor, who was on his way to work, happened to notice my little pink coat poking out from behind the bush. When he talked to me and I denied his help, he was planning on letting it go and leaving for work, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave me. He called up the Homeowner’s Association and let them know what was going on, and they’re the ones who called my dad. My dad told them I’d never leave to answer the phone, so the neighbor drove over, picked up the cell phone, and brought it to me to answer. He ended up being an hour late to work that day. The nice lady who stayed with me kept the house open two hours later than she was supposed to so she could be sure I was safe and warm while I waited for my parents.

Those people are still a part of my life to this day, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have such wonderful and kind people as my neighbors. I honestly don’t know what would have happened that day without them.

No More Narrow Escapes

, , , , , | Legal | October 26, 2018

I live on a narrow one-way street. Emphasis on “narrow” and “one-way.” One day I’m driving home. It’s been a long day; it’s summertime and hot.

I’m very tired and just want to go to bed. Coming round the corner of my street, I have to slam on my brakes because a car is coming towards me.

So, there we stand. The driver in the other car, a young girl, starts shooing and gesturing that I have to back up. We all know her; she has a habit of driving down our street the wrong way because it saves her 500 meters on her ride home. There have been several complaints filed against her, but the police say, “We have to catch her in the act if we want anything to happen.”

I’ve had it for today. I turn off the engine, pull on the handbrake, get out, and lock my car. I take pictures of my car, the other driver, and the license plate on her car with my phone.

She rolls her window down and starts shouting. I just say, “You always knowingly neglect the traffic signs. So now, you back up and get the h*** out of here because I’m calling the police.” And I walk the 50 meters home, meanwhile calling the police.

There’s a lot of yelling and honking behind me; I don’t care. A lot of my neighbours come to watch what all this honking was about.

While I’m sitting inside, I hear a car reversing through our street. At least, I hear a car driving backwards and forwards and backwards again to avoid scratching the parked cars — I did tell you this was a narrow street.

The next day a neighbour tells me it took her 30 minutes to get out of our street. I guess that all the neighbours laughing and making fun of her wasn’t helping her driving skills, either. Best thing was that the police just happened to arrive in time to witness her reversing down our street. She did get several fines.

No one has ever seen her drive through our street again.

It’s Immoral To Be Different From Me!

, , , , , , | Legal | October 24, 2018

(I work nights, Sunday night to Thursday, with Friday and Saturday nights off. I leave for work around nine pm due to the length of my commute. About four pm one Sunday afternoon, I’m roused from a rather peaceful sleep by a series of knocking on the door… rather loud, insistent knocking. Dragging myself to the door, I open it to find a police officer and one of my neighbors standing on my porch.)

Me: *bleary-eyed and yawning* “Whasthisbout?”

Officer: “There have been some calls about your activities, and we felt the need to check on you.”

Me: “Activities? What do you mean, ‘activities’?”

Officer: “Do you mind stepping outside?”

Me: “Considering you just woke me up from a deep sleep? Yeah. What’s this all about?”

Neighbor: “I’ll tell you what it’s about, mister! No one ever sees you during the day, and we all see you wandering off to God-knows-where late at night, only to return in the early morning! That’s not right. We know you’re up to something, and we’re not putting up with your immoral lifestyle any longer!”

Me: “Immoral lifestyle?”

Neighbor: *to the officer* “It’s just not right. He’s probably selling drugs or something. I don’t feel safe with him around here!”

Officer: *to her* “I’ll handle it, ma’am. Sir, we’ve had several calls, and it’s starting to become a problem. Drugs are an issue in this area, so it’d be easier on everyone if you just cooperated and told us what you are doing. Mind stepping out here so we can talk?”

Me: “I’m heading to work.”

Neighbor: “See?! He admits it!”

Officer: “And where do you work, sir? Do you have a number we can confirm that with?”

Me: “I do.” *rattles off work phone number*

Officer: *not really paying attention as he writes* “And what do you do there, sir?”

Me: “I’m the night duty watch sergeant.”

Officer: *still not paying attention* “Uh-huh. And where is this?”

Me: “[Local Prison].”

(At this point the officer blinks and then looks up. He looks back to the notes and then says slowly.)

Officer: “You work at [Prison]?”

Me: “Yep. I’m the night watch sergeant over B block.”

(The neighbor’s smug face has started to sour at this point as she looks to the officer. He, however, turns on her.)

Officer: “So, let me get this straight. You see him leaving late at night, and then coming back early in the morning… and it never dawned on you that maybe he works nights?”

Neighbor: “But… it’s immoral! He should be at home at night, and he never shows up to church; we’ve not seen him there once! This is America. It’s a law; he has to go to church on Sunday!”

Officer: “No, lady, it’s not a law. There’s no such law.”

(Turning back to me, he nodded, apologized for waking me up, and then told the lady that he was done. As I was closing my door, I heard her shrill voice screaming, “But it’s the LAW! This is a Christian nation; he HAS to go to church!” The next day, after I got off work, I stopped by the local church and had a word with the pastor there. He’s something of an old family friend. I related what the lady had said, and that she’d called the police on me. He said that he wasn’t at all surprised, and noted that she’d come to him with it first, only to leave in a huff when he explained that he wasn’t going to do anything about it and advised her that it was best left alone. I lived there another six months with the biddy glowering at me every day as I came home from work, before I rented another house closer to work.)

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