Neighbors?

Years ago, in his "Speech to Graduates," Dave Barry answered his rhetorical question about choosing a career where you get to "work with people:" "The more one works with people, the more one HATES people." He is a brilliant and insightful commentator.

My neighborhood of gorgeous houses, where prices START at $1M, and lush foliage abounds, has lately been the venue for a rich persons' brouhaha (one of wifey's favorite words).

Our friends across the street were having very attractive stepping stones installed in front of their house. Actually, they were more stepping BOULDERS, made of oolitic limestone (coral rock), and the design mimics a gorgeous walk way at Fairchild Tropical Garden. Wifey and I felt lucky that we were going to see this pretty scene as we daily drove past.

Well, one of the neighbors, who has remained anonymous (Riva --busybody wife of a jerky commercial lawyer (who himself was booted out of a Miami law firm for being too much of an asshole (which, if you know Miami law firms, is really saying something)) drove by a few weeks ago. Of course, since she noticed the project was going to beautify the neighborhood, she smiled and admired the work being done, in that way rich folks like watching laborers do the chores they won't do, right?

NO!!!! She called her contacts in village government, and an "inspector" came out, on a Saturday! and told our friends they needed a permit, since the stones were a "paving project." $500 and three weeks later, they finished the job.

Well this morning, MY landscape guy had a 2 man crew outside beautifying our curtillage. They had one truck parked on the side of the road, not blocking traffic. At 930, I got a call from a frantic Riva, who blurted out something about how the truck had nearly caused an accident, because "a vehicle was speeding, and almost hit her," and she had no where to go because of the truck. So --she went after the speeder to vent her pre-menopausal road rage, right? NO! She drove to the workers, and told them to move their truck. She then called me, and we had the following conversation, which, to borrow another Dave Barry phrase, I am not making up:

R: "I asked them to move the truck, and they made believe they didn't speak English."

D: "Riva --they're Mexican or Guatemalan laborers --they don't speak English."

R: "Well, when I mentioned calling the police, they seemed to understand.!"

So, this stay at home, educated (UM, I'm embarrased to say) wife of a succesful lawyer, feels it necessary to pick on minimum wage earning landscapers. Why? I guess a psychologist specializing in the neuroses of the wealthy and succesful could tell us.

Anyway, as I write this, no police were called, although if I get some sort of fine from the Village, I won't be surprised.

Dave Barry: one again, when it comes to human nature: you NAILED it!