Being a flat dweller is not always the easiest, especially if you stay across the road from a busy train station and have noisy neighbours.
There are neighbors all around you, not only next door but on top of you and below you. How can people stand it? It is like living in a pet shop with all the cages stacked on top of each other and having budgies for neighbors now a Budgie breeder will know exactly what I mean by that, ask him.
Well, I’m going to kill mine. Yes, you heard me right! I am going to kill the son of a ….!
You see, he has this car that he is always revving and tinkering on and I don’t mind it, really, I don’t. The problem is that I work shifts and I work very hard under a lot of stress. Now every time that I want to rest or sleep this car is either being revved up or drilled on or banged on or being sprayed.
I can’t even remember what color this car was two weeks ago!
This four wheeled monster in the parking area apparently has a cam in and a free flow exhaust system.
Do you know how that combination sounds in a confined area? There should be laws against disturbing your neighbors but with this new South Africa everything has gone haywire and nobody knows what are law and what not.
You can even kill people these days without fear of being caught because our justice system are being raped by everybody especially the politicians that we have these days.
There it starts again.
Oh God, please help me because if you don’t I will surely get into a situation where I will have to chance our legal system as well.
Maybe if I shut the door and turn the T.V. louder it will help.
I go through to my room and see the pistol sticking out from under the pillow.
I never had one but, you see, I was high jacked a few months ago and with a car tyre almost on top of my head and a big hijackers foot on the gas I realized that there is still a God. I prayed while my knees quivered and my heartbeat could be heard miles away above the vacuum cleaner that my sister was using inside the house, not knowing what was happening to her dear brother only a few meters away.
I know that He listened to me that day or I would not be telling you this story now but the problem is that I feel like doing to this backyard mechanic what they almost did to me that day.
I can almost visualize myself going over his head with his own car and revving it as the front wheel lifts up onto his head until you hear it pop above the noise of the motor. His brains will scatter all over and mix with the tar where it belongs. At least only a tar brain will not consider the fact that he has neighbors or the fact that some of them might want to sleep before they go to work.
Maybe I’m still suffering from shock of the high jacking and if I shoot this
piston head downstairs in his car I can claim temporary insanity or something like that.
Jeez, this is starting to cause me a headache. Maybe a neat whisky will help to relax.
Back in the lounge with a whisky in my one hand I lean against the wall with the other and could actually feel the vibration in the wall.
What person in his right mind will rev a piece of good machinery like that?
I walk out on the back porch and he looks up.
“Howzit ?” he says when he sees me.
Howzit your- o ring- self, I think and wave back at him with a neighborly smile and hatred in my eyes that he can’t see from that distance.
I notice his wife who also looks up with a smile. I smile back with all the love in my body and could feel the immediate reaction in my lower parts which I decide to scratch just to oil him of because he knows that his wife is looking at me.
Why do these spanner monkeys always get the most beautiful woman? What attracts them to men like that who are always working on cars and bikes and don’t forget the bottle.
My mother married a dope head as well and although he sired five of us and had more alcohol and dope in him than blood. She died loving him, hoping until her death that he would come back home. In her coffin she still had marks on her face from years back while he had the nerve to show up at the funeral with sorrow on his face and looking for sympathy which he of course received while his common law wife was sitting in the car with their illegitimate son.
Take me for instance, I have been married twice and I don’t drink or smoke. I don’t “jol” and I am always coming home straight from work without going to the local bar with my buddies.
At least they kept their wives and I lost both of mine to someone like them.
My first wife gets beaten regularly by her second husband and the second is now involved with a drunk who drinks out his salary before he gets home and screws every slut in town. It’s a wonder he hasn’t given her aids yet.
He gets into the car and I turn my back on them to go back inside where it is least a little bit quieter.
Why doesn’t anybody complain? There is twenty flats in this building with a lot of old people in it but nobody says anything.
The second whisky goes down better than the first one and just as I start relaxing my bladder tells me that it needs to be emptied.
With a struggle I move my tired body from the couch and in the bathroom I look into the mirror while I am busy relieving myself.
One thing about a mirror, it always tells the truth no matter what you want it to say.
My eyes are red and there are sacks underneath them that look like storage place for something or the other.
I haven’t slept in 48 hours. Between the neighbor and the trains with their squeaking wheels and noisy doors I don’t think that I will sleep until my nightshift is over and then I will only get it late at night when everybody else is sleeping, even my neighbor.
Finished I fix my trousers and walk like a zombie to the room where I fall flat on my back onto the still new bed with my one hand underneath the pillow and the other on a warm place.
Closing my eyes feels good and the last thoughts in my mind is my neighbors wife stripping for me.
In a daze I realize that I can’t breath and something heavy is restricting my chest. I get the smell of rubber in my nose and open my eyes slowly.
It’s the damn car with my neighbor smiling at me from the driver eat. I look at the walls in my room and wonder how the hell they got in here while at the same time I realize the reason for not being able to breath.
There is a tire parked on my chest and the more I struggle the tighter it pushes me to the bed.
All I can hear is the motor being gunned by the driver and as I look up into the engine compartment I can see the alternator and the fan turning at a speed very near to my head.
To damn near!
The room is filling up with dioxide and I can hear someone screaming in my ears with such force that they almost burst.
Removing the pistol from underneath the pillow I realize that it is I
screaming for help.
With the safety released I shoot into the engine and notice with satisfaction as oil start coming out of the sump in great big gashes.
Not long now, you crank, then your motor will be permanently ceased and what are you going to rev up then, your wife?
The car slides of my chest and as I lift the pistol to my neighbor’s face I notice that his unclothed wife is now sitting in the passenger seat with a very seducing smile and lowered eyes.
He realizes that his motor is busy packing up as the bearings and the rings overheat. He is more worried about that than me seeing his not so fully clad woman.
By know my pistol is pointing at his head. Right in the middle on top of his nose.
My finger tightens around the trigger and I see the neat hole appear in his forehead before the blast reaches my ears.
The back of his head bursts open like a ripe watermelon and splashes all over the woman.
Her mouth forms an O but no sound is coming from it and her big blue eyes Is more inviting as they fill with fear when she sees the pistol moving in her direction.
The heaviness in my chest is gone as I sit up and realize that there is nothing around me. In my hand is the pistol but there is no evidence of what has just happened.
With a relief I realize that it was a nightmare and slowly get up for work where I arrive late. The guy who I am supposed to relieve does not look very happy but, carrots for him, I thought. He doesn’t stay in a flat next to a neighbor who gets the feeling every time he starts his car.
With a very sorrowful expression I spin him a tale of getting a flat along the road and with that apology he goes home leaving me all alone in a two thousand square meters building to patrol and make sure that nothing gets stolen.
The TV seems very entertaining and I watch a show where a maniac with a sawed of shotgun kills his wife and neighbor that he caught in bed together.
Their blood colored the white sheets red and while he looks at them the cops burst through the door just in time to prevent himself from committing suicide and missing the rope of justice around his skinny little neck.
The shift passes slowly and at exactly seven bells my relief arrives.
He tells me that I look very tired and I sent him straight to hell without a return ticket or a first aid box.
At home the silence is very welcome and I undress. The trains are taking other people to work as the rush hour comes up while I am getting ready to sleep.
There is a saying that only whores and policemen work at night but I guess that who ever thought that up never had to work for a living and probably died of some unmentionable disease or in jail.
The coffee I made tastes like dishwater and I leave it on the side table next to the bed closing my eyes for a well-deserved sleep.
Far below in the deep state of sleep something enters my mind and slowly brings me back to reality.
There is a foul taste in my mouth and I swallow some of the cold coffee.
My watch says that I have only slept for twenty minutes and the headache I have tells me to get some aspirin.
The noise from outside vibrates against my sensitive ears as I walk to the bathroom.
I peep through the window and see that the white car’s bonnet is up again and there right in front of it is my neighbor, bent over and examining the motor like a doctor.
With the one hand he pulls the accelerator cable causing the motor to reach a high pitch that grinds through my headache like a hammer drill.
A deep growling noise come from within my throat and I can feel my whole body shaking with rage.
Out of frustration I hit the mirror with my bare fist and as it cracks my hand starts to bleed. The pain of the cut brings me back to reality and I start looking for the aspirins.
I go around inside the flat making sure that all the windows are closed and that all the curtains are pulled. It might help to muffle the sound a little bit.
I pour a double neat whisky and down it with one swallow but the noise is still there.
After the third whisky I head back for the room and pull the duvet over my head as I get in the bed.
The hard metal of my pistol press against my shoulder as I move around.
Soon you bastard, soon your time will come and you can make all the noise you want in hell. Nobody works shifts there because you will burn and stay awake for eternity.
I fall asleep with the vision of my neighbor’s wife naked and notice this time that she is beckoning for me with her finger.
I am late for work again and the asshole that I relieve says that he is going to have a talk with the boss. I told him what he could do with his mother as he walks out of the office but I don’t think that he heard me.
The shift goes by slowly when suddenly, around two in the morning, an alarm goes of in the canteen.
I am busy with a round of inspecting the premises when the guard in the control room notifies me about it.
I run as fast as I can with adrenaline pumping in my veins. This might be my chance to prove myself. A promotion might mean no shitty shifts.
Just as I arrive the culprit sneaks out of the open front and with the force of my disappointment I kick at the big tomcat. I miss and with a loud miaau it disappears into the darkness.
Now I am feeling very frustrated and start looking for this cat all over the building but it must have known because it has disappeared into thin air.
I feel so tired that it feels as if I am walking on a cloud and it feels as if someone is scratching at my pupils with sandpaper. My legs feel wobbly and I am shaking all over.
On the premises is a staff shower that comes to good use when you are tired.
After about thirty minutes underneath it I feel a little bit better and decide to
get some more coffee although the quantities that I have already had giving me heartburn.
Finally I am back at home and don’t even bother to undress when I fall onto the bed. I am sleeping even before my head hits the pillow.
I got at least two hours sleep before it happens again. This time
something loud and sharp woke me up and I couldn’t register what it was.
Then my neighbor’s door slams shut and I hear a woman scream then another.
Hell, he must have driven straight into the wall with that mechanical monster of his, I smiled but when I got outside I felt very guilty.
I run down the stairs and at the same moment become aware of sirens getting louder.
His wife screams and when she sees me runs straight into my arms almost slipping in her husband’s blood.
Patting her on the back and holding her tighter I look over her shoulder and there he was.
The person who shot him did a very good job of it because there is at least four holes in his chest and blood all over the car .
Everybody was outside their flats and I even heard someone say that it is what he deserved. The cops only left about three hours later and I helped her push the car into the garage.
Two months later I feel fresh as a daisy, my promotion has come through and that almost doubled my salary. Next to me in my bed is my brand new wife.
I stretch over and bite her on a soft place then look up and wink at her late husband just in case he might be watching.
Although this story was in good humor I hope that my neighbor reads it!
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
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