Monster Truck Hogs the Lot

and Rock'n'Roll has left the building

Things are hoppin’ ‘round here at Fairfax Place. Some comings and goings to report. I’ll start with young rock’n’roll couple Foxy and Minx. They loaded up their amps, speakers, and electric guitars into a Uhaul and that’s all she wrote. They were cute. Foxy had bleached blonde hair with black roots. Minx had long black braids and her style was rock rave with thigh high boots, ripped tights, I-just-threw-this-together-and-nailed-it. Dax Shepard and Blue Ivyish vibes.

When they first moved in, I witnessed them walking to their apartment and Foxy took a tumble in the driveway. He was man down, and Minx was sympathetic, until she wasn’t. From my perch at the kitchen window, I wasn’t totally convinced he hurt himself badly enough to warrant the wincing, the clutching of leg, the moaning. Minx didn’t seem sure either. She tried to get his ass up but he’d fall again, splayed out on the concrete. Soon her hands were on her hips and I heard her say, “Should I call 911?!” with a little edge in her voice. “No!” he groaned. Minutes passed. I was glued.

Finally Foxy dug deep and Minx was able to pull him upright, wrap his arm around her shoulders, and slowly limp their way up to their apartment.

The next day I observed Foxy tootling around the complex without so much as a limp.

They proved to be lively neighbors. I liked to watch them living the young, wild, rock’n’roll life. They clomped up and down the stairs dragging equipment, smoked joints with friends on the landing, laughing and hooting and peeling in and out in their black Prius. However, Allison across the way (adjacent to stairs) reported that all the clomping “made her unhinged.”

Rock’n’Roll isn’t dead

When I rallied the complex in an uprising against our slumlord (that story later), they were super supportive. If Foxy saw me roll up and start unloading groceries, he’d run down with a grin and help me carry them up. Minx told me I was a hero. I know they played gigs and they even invited me to one which I kinda regret passing on.

When there was a parking lot crisis involving a Monster Truck, they agreed to take one for the team and switch parking places to make it easier for everyone to navigate around the Great White Nightmare. Team Players right there.

When the kid moved in with his Monster Truck, and I do mean monster- he could’ve driven that thing over jumps in a stadium- some tenants could barely get in or out of our small parking lot because it was such a space hog. I asked Edgar the manager, who’s never made an assertive move in his life- “Didn’t you vet the guy’s vehicle before letting him move in?”- “He just said he had an SUV, how was I to know?”- um, maybe actually lay eyes on the car?!

When I first saw the truck I was floored, and of course it was parked next to me. It stuck way out from the space, and being that other cars parked closely behind me, it would LITERALLY take me five minutes to inch my way out of the space, comsuming me with rage before I’d even made it out into the world. Darling Muscle Mike, who parked on the other side of me, said he often “doesn’t bother going anywhere because it’s too much trouble.”

Ok so maybe it’s more of a Monster Blazer but look how far it sticks out!

The first time I met Monster Truck Kid in the parking lot, he hopped down outta the driver’s seat, and I was waiting with arms crossed. Young kid, chiseled cheekbones, shiny hair. “Guess this is my new life now,” I snapped. “What?” he said, looking kinda scared. “It’s a nightmare getting around your truck!” I said with nostrils flaring. He calmly said, “I’m sorry, If there’s a better place for me to park, I’m happy to do it. I don’t want to be that dick..” Oh no, he was nice. I pursed my lips trying to stay strong. “I’m James by the way,” and he reached out his hand. “Great, now you’ve humanized yourself and I can’t hate you,” I said as I shook it. He smiled. Dangit!

So James switched spots with Foxy and Minx which definitely helped. I had to give him credit for being nice and offering a solution when confronted by a wild-eyed blonde ready to rumble.

Monster Truck had troubles of its own. Getting in and out of our narrow driveway proved harrowing. Before long, it had dings and scrapes along the sides, and soon became so beat up and thrashed, it was a shadow of its former self. Then one day it was just gone. “I got rid of it,” James said woefully. I tried to act sympathetic.

Suddenly there were ice chests strategically placed in the middle of his now empty parking space. James wanted to be sure no one got any funny ideas about using his space for guest parking or anything of the sort- even though he had no vehicle.

Do Not Enter!

Next thing I knew, Coffee and Cig Guy, who we’d see traipsing groggy-eyed through the complex with his coffee mug to have his morning cig out front- pulled up a lawn chair and used the ice chest as his coffee table. He started taking his cig breaks there instead. “I got sick of people walking by bumming cigs off me,” he said. Not sure if James approved this or was just unaware.

Coffee and Cig Guy turns into White Claw Guy after he’s had his coffee. I noticed bags upon bags of empty White Claw cans in the recycling bin and wondered who the chugging perp could be? Until one afternoon I found Coffee and Cig Guy in his parking space office, talking on the phone with a White Claw on his ice chest coffee table. Another time I saw him return at 3 PM, park, hop out with a White Claw can, slurp the last drops from it, and toss it in the bin. Lush Alert!

A few months later Monster Truck Kid moved out. Then one evening I got home, and to my horror, there was a new vehicle parked next to me: Big Red.

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