Have you considered putting a sign on both sides of the door saying "Please do not slam the door"?
Thanks for the stories folks!
Just for boomerang I'll pull a story or two out of my hat about Crazy Anthony next door. I just don't have the time right now. If the first story is any indication, once I get started writing I have trouble stopping.
Chai--The note I attached to the door said,
"To the many people who use this entrance:
Please close both outer doors. Please do not slam them.
Thank you."
I thought it was polite and to the point. Additionally, I explained to my landlady that she was the one (at the time) who slammed the door the most and would she please stop doing it. Since she lives directly above me, I hear quite a bit. Mostly what I hear is doors slamming. Whether it's her front door, her back door, the closets, kitchen cabinets. I swear the woman can't close a door like a civilized human being. The only one that bothers me is the one to which I've already devoted too much time here.
As promised, a new story for boomerang (this story is definitely not for those with weak constitutions):
*The names have been changed to protect the innocent.*
I've always thought of Anthony, the gentleman next door, as somewhat eccentric. It was not until his mother, Gina, passed that I found out how much, and perhaps why, he's so odd. You see, Gina did everything for her boys because they were so good at taking care of their mother. "My boys do everything for me," she told me on many occasions, "I couldn't ask for better children."
Quite frankly, I seldom saw either of them do anything at all. They would leave the house for work each weekday around 7:00 a.m. and return around 5:00 p.m. Anthony drove his mother to church every Sunday and to the grocery store every Saturday. Sometimes his brother, Joseph, would go along for the ride. Funny, in the nearly fifteen years I've lived next door to them, I think I've heard Joseph say fewer than ten words. Even when I've issued a hearty "Good morning," he hasn't so much as made eye contact with me. But I'm getting off the topic already, aren't I?
Anyhow, until their father grew too old to do it by himself, it was he who did all of the yardwork and snow shoveling and he who tended to the beautiful vegetable garden that produced the tomatoes Gina would can in the fall. When Sal, Gina's husband, the boys' father, became too old and ill to remain at home, he was moved into a nursing home. (He's still faring quite well from what I hear, but he requires a level of care that his sons can't provide.) Gina and the boys made daily trips to visit Sal until Gina herself became too ill. Anthony, the elder of the two sons, was fortunate enough to be offered an early retirement package from his employer at just the right time. He accepted it so he could stay home with his ailing mother and to take over the running of the house. Mind you, early retirement was offered to the company employees aged 58 and older, so Anthony is no spring chicken...
I hate to do this to all of you, but I really have to run. I'll have to finish this one tomorrow.....
Terry you are such a tease!
<tap, tap, tap>
This sounds like a neighborhood I would love!
Now, where was I? Oh yes, Anthony is no spring chicken himself; he's now in his early sixties...but before I continue, I have to give a brief description of our neighborhood.
I've never researched it, but my landlady has owned this house for almost 50 years and it was about 40 years old when she and her husband bought it. This was some sort of development in the late twenties or early thirties. Most of the houses within two blocks of mine are virtually identical which means the first two floors are two bedroom apartments and some of the attics have been converted into cute one bedrooms or studios. The house next door is no exception, so I have a very well developed picture in my mind of the apartment in which my neighbors live since they basically live in a carbon copy of mine.
Anthony and Joseph were raised in a very traditional Italian family which in this area means that the children live with their parents until they marry. I never found this odd until my landlady pointed out a very strange, even creepy, fact. I joked that judging by the clothes hanging on the line Anthony probably still had the first dollar he ever made. My landlady, who loves to gossip, expanded, "He has the first dollar his father ever made! Not one of them spends a dime he doesn't have to. In fact, when the boys needed new furniture for their bedroom, Gina bought a full sized bed for them because it was cheaper than buying two twins. They still have it. Now that Gina's gone and Sal's moved into the nursing home, Joseph not only gets his own bedroom for the first time in his life; he gets his own bed!"
I realise I'm being somewhat judgemental about this information, but I haven't been able to look either of them in the eye since that conversation with my landlady.
