Just Call Me Archie Roper
So, the Clampetts moved next door last month.
Within the space of a week, we went from neighbors with 2 meek little girls and an occasional infiltration of our yard by their canine escape experts to a family of 4 kids, all 8 and under, who have absolutely no understanding of the phrase “noise ordinance”.
In addition to the increased commotion emanating from the adjacent house at all hours of day and night, Cap’n Firepants and I started to become suspicious of not-so-legal activities when we began spotting random cars with different license plates parked at the house every day of the week. This fact, coupled with the likelihood of being able to support 4 kids, a stay-at-home wife, and a frequent stay-at-home husband, while still affording the home next door (which had been way out of our price range, and included a pool) made everything crystal meth clear to me.
“They must be drug dealers,” I announced to Cap’n Firepants with the absolute certainty that comes from years of experience with unusual neighbors – including The Catastrophically Crazy Cat Lady and the Unscrupulous Paint Ball Pinheads.
After several weeks of suspicion, I finally decided to put on my deerstalker cap and matching sensible flip-flops, and do some investigating.
I took a casual drive by their truck to find the company name emblazoned on the side.
Then I Googled it. After looking through a page or two, I found a name that I then looked up on a social network. Then I cross-checked it with deed records, and five minutes after my official investigation had commenced, declared to Cap’n Firepants that “I am the best Googler in the World” – and that we (okay, I) had probably jumped to some wrong conclusions.
“He’s the head of an oil company,” I said.
“O.K.”, the Cap’n responded, completely unimpressed with my lightning internet detective skills.
So, I guess, since the husband is in the oil business, that I wasn’t completely off when I stamped them with “The Clampett” moniker.
However, I am willing to admit that I might have some sitcom blood in me, too. Mix a bit of intolerance in with a whole bunch of nosiness, and what kind of neighbor am I?