Maybe it’s time I head outside and mow my lawn.
I fear my neighbors are losing patience, as they spend sweltering weekends cutting, trimming, and weeding, resulting in perfectly green, manicured grass soft enough for bare feet. Conversely, my “lawn” is a waist-high amalgam of crabgrass, chickweed, creeping charlie and dandelions. Village inspectors keep driving by slowly, some stopping to take photos or write in official-looking notebooks. Dogs don’t even use my lawn to relieve themselves and I don’t blame them.
It wasn’t always like this; I was usually the first one in my suburb to arise on Saturday mornings and fire up my Toro, followed by my hedge trimmer, leaf blower or some other obnoxiously loud tool designed to wake the neighbors and force them to look at my handiwork. Of course, my routine stopped after Joe Biden became the 46th president. I retreated inside, to wait and prepare for what former President Trump said was coming if he lost.
“If I don’t win, America’s suburbs will be OVERRUN with low-income projects, anarchists, agitators, looters and, of course, ‘friendly protesters,’” Trump thundered in a Sept. 10, 2020 tweet.
Those Damn Suburb Kids
So far none of this has happened, as far as I can tell. Two weeks ago, from my window, I watched some kids across the street affixing a hand-painted sign to a table. “Here we go,” I thought, expecting a protest to materialize at any moment.
My breath loosened when I saw the words, “Lemonade Stand.” I haven’t ventured outside to see if the kids were OVERRUN with customers.
No, I’ve been inside, preparing my house for the impending marauders who will force me to flee … well, I’m not sure where; but we can cross that bridge later. Let’s start with the looters. Honestly, my house could use a good looting, as it is full of crap that never sold at numerous yard sales.
I am currently affixing arrows made from masking tape to my floor, pointing the looters to my basement. Once there, they are welcome to a 1990s-era pastel sofa with a faded dog vomit stain, a china cabinet containing a gouge suffered when it was being moved from the garage to the basement, and a 100-inch rear projection television featuring a built-in VCR. How that didn’t sell, I’ll never know.
Agitators, You Are Too Late
Agitators, I’m not sure what you have up your sleeves but my neighborhood has already seen its share of agitation. There was the block party that almost wasn’t after some miscommunication over who was supposed to pick up the keg. One icy evening in January, three neighbors called my house asking if my wife and I were having “issues.” What they were really hearing was me screaming at the snowplow driver after he annihilated my mailbox. And don’t even get me started about the teenager who thinks Fourth of July fireworks have a shelf life that extends well into August.
Anarchists, you would stick out the most in my neighborhood because we do tend to follow the rules around here. For the most part, we obey the posted speed limits, clean up after our dogs and seal our trash bags tightly on collection days. So, there’s very little anarchy. Then again, I was cited last summer for running my sprinklers past the legal 9 a.m. cut off time. I paid the fine, but, mark my words, this fight is far from over.
Finally, I’m not sure if any low-income projects have been erected since Biden took office, but I doubt it. My town is pretty built out, save for the large field adjoining the park district headquarters. One day I saw bulldozers in the area and assumed Trump’s prediction had come true. Turns out, crews were digging a hole for more pickleball courts.
So, I think it’s safe to resume normal activities and stop with all the doomsday prepping. If our ex-President returns to office, as he claims will happen after he wins in 2024, I will decide my next move.
Chances are it will involve hiding under a pastel sofa.
