Blogging on telephone poles
Dawn was cracking but could not yet be described as broken. It was one of those Spring mornings that fills you with promises of warmth and sunshine, and I was on my way to go for a solo mountain bike ride. I was still bleary-eyed as I slipped out the door as quietly as possible, so it's surprising that I even saw the yellow post-it note on our front door. My heart skipped a beat. It must be a sweet note from my wife or kids. How fun! In this frame of mind, I began to read the following words: "You will be responsible & held accountable for the murder..." This didn’t' seem like something my wife would write. It's neither cute nor funny. Confused, I read on: "...for the murder of the bear you are baiting and luring with your trash you septic scum!" This was clearly not a love note. "...Go back to the east coast where you belong dirt bag!" Damn. "Dirt bag" is hard to argue with, but the rest felt a bit extreme. I quickly spun around and scanned the street for anybody that might be watching to see my reaction. Nobody. My first thought was to crumple up the note and throw it away. Who was this person who had spewed such vitriol? The note had seemingly stolen away all the friends I thought I had on my street. And you have to understand, we are blessed with the world’s coolest bunch of neighbors on the world’s coolest block. But now I rattled each one off in my head as a possible suspect. My day was ruined; maybe my week, and possibly my life on Highland Ave. This little note had changed my life and I wasn't sure how to put my life back the way it was. Something inside told me that throwing it away was not the solution. So I stuck it back on the door. On my way to the trail head, I went around back and sure enough, something had gotten into our trash. My sense was raccoons were responsible, but it could’ve been a bear. They do come into the neighborhood on occasion. The ride gave me a lot of time to think and I came up with a plan. I also realized that I'd left the same booby trap I had stumbled into, in my wife’s path. I called as soon as I could. "Did you see the note on the door yet?" I asked. To which she replied, "Yes, and it's ruined my whole day." It was only 8:30 AM but we both knew she was right. "Don't worry," I said, "I have a plan."The next day, I brought the note to work and blew it up as big as I could, 11X17 inches, along with my reply. My plan was to post my answer to this note on telephone poles around the neighborhood. What I had realized was that the anonymity of the note had stolen away my ability to answer my accuser. I could fix that. And although I was curious who had left the note, I was most curious to know who hadn't. I needed to know that the neighbors we chat with every day were really our friends. My post read as follows: "Dear Neighbor: I got your note (see below) but was unable to locate any signature, so I am posting this in the hopes of getting back to you. I spoke with my son about not putting the trash out the night before pickup and he gets it. As outlined in your note his actions may have led to the ‘murder of a bear.’ He doesn't want to be responsible for the murder of a bear, or the manslaughter of a bear, or even the aggravated assault of bear. In fact, he has assumed a very pro-bear stance. At this point, his concern for the perpetuity of genus ursus is unequivocal.
As far as your suggestion that me and my family "go back east," I can only surmise that you belong to one of the indigenous tribes of this area. And while I am sorry about the encroachment of Europeans into these lands, I firmly believe that if I were to return, another person of European descent would take my place.
Anyway, it's been a pleasure corresponding with you. As our relationship evolves, it is my hope that our continued dialogue will lead to even more dramatic improvements in the neighborhood. Love,
Alex BoguskyP.S.: I congratulate you on the turn of phrase, ‘septic scum.’ The vitriol and imagery, and clever use of alliteration, more than make up for the fact that it's a bit redundant.”
As far as your suggestion that me and my family "go back east," I can only surmise that you belong to one of the indigenous tribes of this area. And while I am sorry about the encroachment of Europeans into these lands, I firmly believe that if I were to return, another person of European descent would take my place.
Anyway, it's been a pleasure corresponding with you. As our relationship evolves, it is my hope that our continued dialogue will lead to even more dramatic improvements in the neighborhood. Love,
Alex BoguskyP.S.: I congratulate you on the turn of phrase, ‘septic scum.’ The vitriol and imagery, and clever use of alliteration, more than make up for the fact that it's a bit redundant.”
That night, I posted this up in around my ‘hood. As I drove to work the next morning, I noticed groups of neighbors huddled around telephone poles, reading and chuckling. By the time I got to the office, my phone was ringing with calls of support and theories about who the mysterious note writer was. That weekend, many neighbors went out of their way to assure me that they were glad to have the Boguskys on the block, and expressed how much they enjoyed my reply. One woman had a friend who had received a very similar note only two months after moving in. She was relieved to see she wasn’t alone. I think if I had been her, I might’ve just moved. After a couple years of living here, we were blessed to have established a foundation of friends. There was something about putting it all out there that was cathartic for everybody. Shining a light on the note that was left in the dark, washed away all its power. And suddenly, we lived on the best street with the best neighbors in the best town again.
