My neighbors are the Klopeks.
Maybe you have a “Klopek” type living in your neck of the woods. Maybe–just maybe–you’re fortunate enough that they don’t live right next door.
I live in a very old neighborhood (circa 1900’s). The home we moved into was meticulously renovated, keeping in style with the town’s vintage landscape.
My neighbors, whom I will call the Klopek’s, did not rise to the occasion. If you don’t know what I mean by calling my neighbors this name, you need to rent the movie “The Burbs.” It’s circa 1980’s and here is the trailer:
So now you know what I’m talking about.
The first year we moved in, I was told by several neighbors that the wife had taken it upon herself to stucco the entire exterior of the house. Her husband, who walks like a sloth, is never to be found. The aesthetics of the home that she stucco’d, albeit she did her best without the help of a five man crew, left a lot of holes–enough for mice, chipmunks, possibly a dwarf or small child, to get into their basement and set up house. There is exposed wood that is rotting, and the slats of the wood home (maybe some of you would call this the foundation), is showing.
But, that’s just the tip of the Klopek konundrum.
Every single day I get to see–which was at one point–a beautiful set of French Oak doors. slanted on the side of their house. Four years have passed, and those doors are now prime candidates for woodchucks or an open fire pit.
It is a rotten shame. Literally.
They covered it up with a big, black plastic piece of tarp. Which, if during the winter, will blow away exposing more of the homes various holes. Why they bought the door leads to the mystery of why they buy other things and then just leave them.
The Klopek’s have a vintage Saab in their one car garage which I am certain has the living coordinates of Sasquatch, or what most people like to refer to as Bigfoot.
I can hear ominous music playing in my head every time I walk past that garage. If they need to open up the door and keep it open, they prop it up with a long piece of wood. This will allow famous folk legends like Bigfoot, and possibly the Lock Ness Monster to waddle on in, make dinner for the fam, watch a little television and then do their jobs by scaring the living shit out of people.
I have never seen the Klopek’s backyard. I’ve only glanced at it through the slats of their beaten up wooden fence. There is a child’s play-set, which looks worn out from years of wear or years of being exposed to the elements. However, their only son is now eighteen. So, unless this kid has some strange intimacy with the play-set, why the fuck is it still there?
I see some patio furniture, but the table has no top. The metal chairs have no cushions. There are leaves left from the big oak trees surrounded by the property which have fallen from last season and the seasons before that.
Maybe this is where they bury the bodies without anyone ever knowing.
I have two main strains of thought within the Klopek family: They buy things like bushes, perennials, cement statues, patio furniture and sarcophagus’ at random estate sales. What they fail to do with those items is actually do SOMETHING with them.
Their front yard has at least six bushes–all still in their black, plastic containers–strewn among the overgrown grass, large boulders, and small cement statues.(For you Italians out there, there is no Virgin Mary, so you can breathe a sigh of relief). I can see they made an attempt at planting the bushes because the wheel barrow was in their front yard….
Where it remained for two years.
It gathered all of our rainfall, sleet, and snow. It then decided to sprout weeds. It’s amazing how nature can reinvent itself, isn’t it?
There could have been a portion of someone’s dead body in there (strictly for fertilizing purposes), but I wasn’t about to look.
I got extremely excited this past week because the Klopek’s had a full truck load of mulch delivered right on their driveway in front of the car they recently purchased from a guy who rolled back the odometer.
Legal action pending. Car can not be driven.
But then despair set in.
OMG. That pile of mulch is going to sit there, just like everything else, for years.
I had to put a stop to it.
I knocked on their door and the eighteen year old Klopek answered the door. I told him that I knew of someone who could shovel all of their mulch for $90 cash.
“That’s okay.” He responded. “My mom and I are going to take care of it this afternoon.”
“The whole thing?” I looked at him like he was nuts.
“Yeah. no problem.”
The next day, a small dent was made in the big pile of mulch. They tried to pull up their car–which was a rental from another friend–into the driveway. The car was now parked over the sidewalk.
The Klopek’s aren’t stupid. They knew if their car were to be left like that, they would get cited for a town violation. The cops would want to come into the house….
So, they got into their car and rammed it into the mulch pile.
That’s when I knew I was in trouble. That’s when I knew that within a day or two–after the long rains we’ve had–that huge, fucking pile of cheap mulch with leaves was going to smell like Sasquatch took a dump in it. Chipmunks would run amok; more so than they normally would. I envisioned a little chipmunk village between their driveway and mine. I swear I saw one of the Chipmunks huts had a “Trump for President” sign hammered in their front yard.
You never see the Klopek’s, so I had to keep an eye on when they were going to arrive home. As soon as I saw their car pull up, I walked outside, went down my porch steps and the parents, still in the car, opened up the door. Their eighteen year old son had a friend with him and he had greeted me.
I said, “I know you said three days ago that you and your mom were going to move this pile of mulch, but to be honest, I’ve seen chipmunks running through it (lie), and it’s really starting to smell (no lie). When do you think you can move it?”
The next morning, the pile was gone.
The chipmunks were displaced. The only remnant left was the “Trump For President” sign, which I rolled over with my car.