Neighborland

Los Angeles, USA.

Los Angeles, USA.

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A few years ago my oldest son (then 8) learned that his best school friend only lived two streets over.  So, he invited this kid to the house.  The first time they rode bikes outside and all was well.  The next time this kid came into the house to play and proceeded to try to burn down my kitchen with a lighter.  Figuring it was unintentional, I sent them outside to play for awhile while I took care of the kitchen.  Come to find out, he brought a knife and tried to carve up my house, but ended up chopping up my garden.  My son, never realized there was a problem as his friend’s mom was well aware that he carried a knife.  I told this kid that he either needs to leave the knife at home, or let me know he has it so I can hold onto it while he is here and return it to him when he leaves.  After all, with my luck the boys would trip and someone would have to go to the hospital.  After three times of him bringing the knife, but refusing to relinquish it, I told him that if he couldn’t follow that rule that he couldn’t come over.  I haven’t seen the kid for three years.  Come to find out that he is now on my son’s middle school bus wreaking havoc.  I think I live in the land where serial killers are made:/

USA

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I used to live next door to a family who were a bit strange to say the least. The kids were a bit younger than me and my sister and never used to say hello, even though we’d tried being friendly. Their mum seemed ok at first, and their dad was a very somber, quiet man. I’d heard that he used to beat his wife, and one day she’d stabbed him in the tummy and was committed for a while.

Anyhoo, after a few years of “awkwardness” the kids started throwing stuff into our garden - from bottles of empty body lotion to a pair of poo-filled pants (no doubt hiding them from the mum or dad). My mum just decided not to say anything knowing that things next door were more than a bit weird and just ignored it. Then one day we got a note through our door from the mother saying she was fed up with our cats going in her garden and “harrassing” her. An argument ensued between our mothers, the police were called, she accused my mother of making racist coments (complete fabrication) and they (our mothers) nor us (the kids) ever spoke again. Funily our dads used to still say hello in the street.

Her two kids for a while took to being rude in the street, shouting our names when we weren’t looking, all kinds of pathetic stuff, but it soon stopped and we just behaved like we didn’t know eachother. Even when we were o the bus or in the local shops. This was 15 years ago.

Two years ago I was in a pub with a friend ordering a drink and who was standing next to me but the mother wearing what looked like a dead animal. “It’s YOU! You’re that woman who used to harrass me” she accused. I was dismayed that she’d recognised me, but I assured her that she had me confused with my mother, and that actually, they’d argued one time and that was it. She changed her tone quickly and laughing loudly said “I actually liked your mum”. Strange for someone who was “harrassed” by her.

I sat down, and she came and sat on the table opposite me and started jibbering on about how much she liked my mum, how she intervened in a domstic between my mum and dad and how her kids were both really successful and her daughter had “loads of boyfriends” - not something I was sure was something to be proud of.

She then two dinners (in the sppons 2 for 1 deal) and drank both drinks that came with it - the table was set up as though she was waiting for someone to come, oh they didn’t turn up, I’ll just eat BOTH dinners, and laughed to herself all the way through as though she was having some kind of conversation with someone. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Very bizarre woman and I was actually a bit scared. (UK)

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We can often overhear our neighbors talking in their house, only a few feet from ours.  The husband is a big fat guy who we often hear yelling “Shut up fucker!!!”  We don’t know if he’s talking to his wife, his crying baby, or his pack of yappy dogs. (USA)

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Somewhere in New Jersey.

Somewhere in New Jersey.

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I have an old Macedonian guy who lives in the building next door.  He shuffles around in the street in front of our buildings, chain smoking and muttering to himself and passers by. Some days he doesn’t wear pants.  It’s not pretty.  Until last year we had a guy living in our building who would see Steve the Macedonian roaming around outside without pants on, and he’d hang his head out the window and yell “Steve!!  PANTS MATE!!” Sadly Norm passed away and we no longer have anyone to tell Steve to wear pants. (Australia)

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