When we were having problems with a neighbor, it was simple. You walked over, knocked on the door and had a conversation. Granted, sometimes, the conversation didn’t end well, but it ended quickly nonetheless. In this day and age of social media, conversations not only last a long time, but in some cases they never end.
For instance, I neighbor is busy playing “Achy Breaky Heart” a little too loud on his stereo system. The first time he plays it, it gets stuck in my mind for the rest of the night. When it comes on loud again, floating across the peaceful lake, I’m wondering if they are having some type of line dancing contest, seeing who can break the Guiness Book of World Records in renditions of Achy Breaky danced.
Rather than doing what any normal neighbor would do, walk over, knock on the door and say, “Hey, your music is too loud.” Only to be answered by a very polite, “Fuck you.” I turn to Facebook and post. You tag your neighborhood hoping that they see your post and you don’t have to move your lazy butt over to their front door.
Well, of course, they see your post on Facebook, aren’t you friends with everyone and their mother. A few hours later when you login for the 50th time checking your feed, this post comes up from your neighbor.
You sit there looking at the post trying not to get mad. I mean, you’re not out of touch. You listen to all kinds of music, but if you hear Achy Breaky one more time your head is about to explode. Thinking that you could go buy a CD of Jack Johnson and anyonmously drop it in their mail box, you resort again to the only thing you know - social media.
You sit staring at the blinking cursor, part of you wanting to say something like 3745 Buddingbrook Lane has not only horrible taste in music but rednecks, some little part of you says, “Don’t post it. You’ll regret it.” So you go and simply share this:
Of course you are thinking, “this should explain to them that I do like music, but they need to move on from the Achy Breaky, I mean can’t they dance to the Macarena? Or better yet Electric Boogaloo, that doesn’t get stuck in my head every time they play it.”
I sit and wait, my heart beating faster as we approach dusk, and across the lake I hear the sounds of a party. Taking out my binoculars, (what? Don’t you spy on your neighbors?) I see 10 people out on the deck. My heart falls as I head, “Don’t break my heart, my achy break heart….”
It’s become war.
I post a status update. “Sometimes people need this button.”
Of which, they then quickly reply back with this.
You sit at your computer, thinking the only way to settle this is to go and shoot a hole in the transformer.
But wait, then I’ll lose power too.
I sit, listening to Achy Breaky, my mind wondering, “What were the moves to that line dance? How did it go?”
I change my mind, turn off my computer and figure, someone was going to have to do this the old fashioned way.
A five minute walk, then an agonizing 5 minutes after ringing the door bell. My neighbor comes to the door in a pair of old blue jeans, white T-shirt, ice cold beer in hand. This may not end well, good news is he is not carrying his shot gun.
“Hey, I’m trying to write tonight. Anyway you can either turn down the music or pick a different song,” I put one foot on the step figuring if he jumped at me I’d have a leg up getting away from him.
He takes a sip of his beer, I am glad that there isn’t anyone there to “Hold my beer, and watch this.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Will do,” he says with an English accent, not sticking with the attire he’s wearing.
“Thanks,” I say and turn to leave. I quickly turn back, thinking we will be neighbors for quite a while, “Sorry about that Facebook fight. No hard feelings.”
He looks at me as if I have lost my mind, “I don’t have a Facebook account.”
What?
