Miscommunication is epidemic in our society. In past posts we have explored technology as a culprit. But we can never exonerate ourselves, as we choose to communicate unwisely via virtual means. We also sometimes communicate based upon assumptions.
The trite saying regarding what happens when we ass-u-me is unfortunately spot on. But must that truth hit so close to home?
Two bedrooms, two baths and two hearts on fire – Tesa and I are giddy over our pilot episode of the American dream! We own a dollhouse. Well . . . we own an obligation to make monthly mortgage payments for the place. No matter, life is good. If only someone would tell our backyard neighbor.
“Sunshine” (not his real name) seems hell-bent on jarring us from our dream state. Not like a good neighbor, hate, harm, beware!
He is as warm as a sub-zero enema. When Tesa and I catch him glaring our way from the Preparation H aisle, he jerks a crick in his neck shifting to the opposite direction. What? No bravado? – Strange for such a verbal gladiator.
Most weekends, in the midst of his cronies, he spews snide remarks just loud enough to be heard. But once his band of merry men leave, he retreats to his hideout.
Never one to shy from a duel, particularly when the dam of testosterone has been breached, I reciprocate while hosting backyard barbeques. Two stubborn residents of Ordinary, Texas – Sunshine and I obnoxiously mark our territory like junkyard dogs. He and I are not destined to become Flintstone and Rubble. That is A-OK with me!
But today he took the game too far. I am mowing the first lap around my yard when I come upon a heap of used charcoal and ash. Am shocked to find the pile, but not so at the location (along the midpoint of the back fence we share). Still, that he had the audacity to dump briquettes in my yard! Really?
Without hesitation I turn off the mower and chant profane poetry, while hurling the charcoal back over the fence one piece at a time.
Kerplunk! Kerplunk! – I listen intently to ensure each piece lands in the hairball’s pristine pool.
This messes up pools worse than the Johnson grass over here, pal! Ha, ha, ha.
I chuckle aloud the entire time it takes to finish mowing my oversized lawn.
When I share the levity with Tesa, she is less amused. She gives me that “Oh, dear, what have you done?” look, as she is prone to do. Hey, a guy’s just got to do what a guy’s got to do! My man club will understand.
A few weeks pass. Steve, one of my grilling pals calls to catch up. I recount the charcoal caper, again cracking myself up. Steve is not laughing. Stark silence.
Are you still there?
Russ, I hate to tell you this . . . I dumped that charcoal there.
Yeah, right!
No, really!
(Gulp) What? Wh-wh-why would you do that?
Well, we were about to grill those T-bones and you asked me to light the fire. Your grill was full. Heck, I didn’t know what to do with the mess, so I chucked it back in the weedy part of your yard . . . waaayyy back there. I assumed you would have done the same thing.
Whoops!
One assumption leads to another. Assumptions often manifest the worst in us. Even when reacting to the other jerk.
I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. Nothing! Sunshine has yet to grill me over those sunken coals. No need. My conscience is charred.
Still is – 25 years later.
© 2013 Russ Riddle. All rights reserved.