The Audacity of the Absolute Joker with the 4WD in my Yard
I’ve just woken up from an afternoon nap before starting my night shift. I wander into our kitchen to see what’s cooking and see a driver doing a three-point turn in our front yard. This isn’t unusual because lots of people get lost in our neighbourhood. What was unusual was that he noticed that he’d got our attention, then he stopped his three-tonne, gun-metal grey Range Rover Evoque with personalised numberplate in front of our kitchen window. I can’t be sure, but I think he waves his hand to usher us out to him, like we’re a god-damn drive-thru.
I’m thinking: does this guy want something? If so, he’d better use some manners and get out his car and knock on the door. I say to Hubs: don’t go out to him (I’m in my PJs still, so I’d rather not answer).
So we carry on cooking and wait for him to knock on, or go away.
He beeps his horn. I’m incredulous.
Hubs opens the front door and calls to him “can I help you mate?”
He waves Hubs over. I squeak to Hubs, in that octave that only an apoplectically-angry middle-class white woman can command: DON’T! Don’t. You. DARE go over to him!
Hubs is in a more forgiving mood than me. He puts his shoes on and walks over to the guy’s car (he’s left the engine running, OF COURSE) to see what our white, middle-aged male neighbour wants from us. And gets fed some cock-and-bull story about looking for someone who needed work and did we know who it was.
“I would have got out of my car but I was just worried in case you had a dog or something”.
BOLLOCKS. You just need your country tank to protect you from the neighbourhood proletariat, you absolute NOB.
Am I being unreasonable?
Friday 5 May, 2023