Section 8 - The Decline of an American Neighborhood

Home ownership is part of the American dream. Most of us go to work everyday in order to achieve this kind of dream. After all, who doesn’t want a place they can proudly call home?

So, we save our money from a young age and eventually accumulate enough to make that down payment on our first piece of Americana. It doesn’t matter if it’s a brand new home or a “fixer-upper”. It’s yours and you’re proud of it. You might make improvements to it over time. Perhaps you’ll build a garden or install a swimming pool. You maintain your property and make it look as nice as possible. After all, your home is a reflection of you.

BUT STOP RIGHT THERE……………………

While you’re taking pride in your own home, Uncle Sam is busy moving Fred Sanford and his trailer full of crap into the house across the street. So here it begins: the decline of the American neighborhood…….

Day One

I watch as the graffiti splattered moving van rolls onto my street. It’s followed by what I’m assuming will be my new neighbors. I’m not really sure of what model car they’re driving. It’s got a primer colored hood, tinted glass and low profile tires with spinner rims. The thought of having to look at this piece of shit every night makes me a bit nauseous.

So they get out of the “car”, and my attention is now drawn to the loud rap music from the car stereo. I can’t understand every word, but the word “f*ck” seems to be pretty prevalent. And, of course, my new neighbors seem to know every word as they dance to the beat in the middle of the street. Even though there are only two of them, they make the noise of a stadium crowd. I close the door and try to pretend this isn’t happening.

Day Three

My new neighbors are now moved in. They’ve had several friends come by and visit them over the past 24 hours. Some even came rolling by at 2:00 in the morning. And everyone seems to feel the need to blow their horn several times to announce their arrival. Of course, I wake up every time this happens.

Day Seven

It’s Saturday, and from the looks of the old grill on the front lawn, I assume my new neighbors are preparing for a cook-out. I cringe at the thought. By noon, the guests start showing up. Their cars block several of my other neighbor’s drive-ways. The party soon swings into to full gear. To say its loud would be an understatement. Thuderous would be a better way of desribing it. Empty beer cans and half eaten plates of food begin to litter the street. The party continues well into the night. The first police cars start showing up around 10 pm. Shortly afterwards, the party finally ends.

Day Fifteen

The house is already starting to show signs of decay. There’s at least one broken window and the grass is about a foot high. The weight bench on the front lawn will definitely make the house easy to find for future cook-out guests.

Day Eighteen

I go out to get my mail and find a half eaten slice of pepperoni pizza in my mailbox. I can’t help but think that my new neighbors had something to do with it.

Day Thirty

My new neighbors have decided that it makes more sense to park their ugly car on the front lawn than on the street. So, in addition to the high weeds and trash, I now have to look at their new lawn ornament everyday.

Day Forty-Five

I get a knock at the front door. I’m shocked to see that it’s my new neighbor. Reluctantly, I open to door to see what this asshole possibly wants from me. He tells me that he’s having another cook-out today and wants to know if he can “hold” my lawn mower. I politely tell him to screw off and then close the door.

A few hours later, it appears that one of the other neighbors lent the asshole a lawn mower. There are huge mounds of grass scattered over his lawn and sidewalk. In fact, you can hardly see the sidewalk. I’m not sure which was worse, this or the twelve inches of weeds!

As the guests begin to roll up, things get louder and louder. One guy pulls up and gets out with a pit bull. The dog immediately bolts and proceeds to take a dump right in the middle of another neighbor’s manicured lawn. The thought of picking it up never enters the dog owner’s mind. He takes a swig of his 40 ounce beer and acts like nothing happened.

The party has barely gotten started and the police begin to arrive. This goes on several times throughout the day. It’s not until a brawl breaks out in the middle of the street that the cops finally shut the party down. I can’t get that song out of my mind, “Bad boys, bad boys, what cha gonna do when they come for you….”

Day Fifty

I awaken to the sound of a fire truck siren and flashing red lights. Apparently, there’s been a fire of some kind at the Section 8 house. I later find out that my new neighbors fell asleep with the crack pipe burning. The master bedroom is pretty much destroyed. The owners will be overjoyed to hear this.

Day Sixty

Things have been fairly quiet. Interestingly enough, no one has come or gone from the house in over a week. I’m beginning to think that my new neighbors might be dead. My luck might finally be changing!

Day Sixty-Five

As I drive past my neighbors’ house today, I’m instantly hit with the “good news/bad news” feeling. The bad news is that the front lawn looks like a tornado just stuck. There is furniture and clothes scattered everywhere. The good news is that I’m officially informed that my Section 8 neighbors are finally gone!

Things are good again……until the government foots the bill for the next bunch of social rejects!

KW