By Grant McGee
We live in a lively neighborhood full of young people who enjoy their music.
They like to listen to their music loud. “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…WHOOMP, WHOOMP, WHOOMP.” The house windows rattle. So does the front door every now and then.
The Lady of the House and I have tried to convince our neighbors to turn the music down, way down. Sometimes that works. Then a new acquaintance of the neighbors shows up and the beat goes on: “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…WHOOMP, WHOOMP, WHOOMP.”
We sent the son out, the son with tattoos and piercings, thinking he might scare them.
Our musical neighbors just asked him where he got his “tats” and piercings.
The Lady of the House has even stood at the door and given those with the loud music “The Look,” to no avail.
“THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…WHOOMP, WHOOMP, WHOOMP.” It continued.
“Maybe if I went out there with a bull horn,” I said to The Lady of the House one evening. “You know, walk out there and speak into it, like the police do on the TV, “WOULD YOU PLEASE TURN YOUR MUSIC DOWN.”
“They’d probably just turn their music up,” said The Lady of the House.
“I could shoot at them with a potato gun,” I said. That’s one of those plastic things that you jab into a potato and shoot bits of tater at your target.
“You’d probably put your eye out,” said The Lady of the House.
“I know,” I said. “Next time I hear the loud music I’ll strip naked and run outside. I’ll wave my arms around and around and shake my booty.”
The Lady of the House looked atme.
“Oh yes,” she said. “That would put a stop to it. Because we’d probably have to move.”
“It was just a thought,” I said.
Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles andlikes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life. Contact him through his blog at:: grantmcgeewrites.com.