During today’s walk, a Code Enforcement vehicle stopped in front of me and a woman jumped out and tried to tear a garage sale sign off of a stop sign pole. The ensuing struggle between the sign and enforcement officer who wrestled herself into frenzy was WWF worthy. Now I’m thinking of putting a yard sale sign made of duct tape on the pole and a chain link octagon around it. When the officer shows up I’ll have a woman in a bikini walk around holding a board with a giant 1 on it.
The enforcer was highly concerned about the suburban blight caused by a garage sale sign but not the yard beside it so overgrown with weeds that I’m pretty sure Sasquatch and D.B. Cooper are living in Amelia Earhart’s plane there. And meanwhile, guys run around El Paso wearing man buns and tiny pony tails without getting so much as a warning.
Can we all agree that any guy with a man bun needs to be disqualified? From everything. Guys with tiny ponytails, too. There’s probably some type of rehab they should attend, as well. That being said, if I was given the hair I had 10 years ago in exchange for having to wear a man bun, I’d be rockin’ the man bun from hell. And attending Hipsters Anonymous.
A few years ago the vacant rental two houses down from us had a toilet and mattress in the front yard for over a year. I kept expecting to see Bear Grylls camped out using them while on some suburban survival trek but he never showed up. Neither did code enforcement, but they did pick up the box I placed at the end of the street advertising my yard sale. It just occurred to me, next time I need to get rid of a ridiculously large box, like the ones appliances come in, I’m just going to write Garage Sale on it and place it at the end of the block.
I have noticed that whenever a large item like a ladder or giraffe is on the freeway, it disappears by the next day. Magicians make stuff disappear all the time so I’m pretty sure it’s magic. Anyways, now I dispose of stuff like old refrigerators and mattresses by letting them “fall out” of my truck around the spaghetti bowl. I don’t know where magicians send that stuff but my uneducated guess is someone’s yard in East Montana. “Dios mio, ese es el tercer refrigerador esta semana!”
Well, I hope that guy doesn’t get a ticket for having a yard full of broken appliances. And that there’s room for my dishwasher.