Two middle aged Suburban men who despite living on the same cul-de-sac have never actually met, find themselves becoming new best friends as this summer in the 'burbs will forever change them.
Join these two ordinary guys who go from having their l...
Larry Miller, CPA, MBA, or as he liked to think of himself "Efficiency Expert" stepped out his door, still stretching, and reached down for his daily papers. Looking around the neighborhood he enjoyed what he saw. Picket fences, colorful decorations, and lush green lawns. Many people derided suburbia as a soulless blight, an attempt to hide from the real world, and most of all just super boring. Miller though loved what he saw, the order of it all, the consistency, and the anonymity. Taking a deep breath Larry was sure the suburbs even had its own smell of fresh cut grass, smoke, and just a tad bit of rubber or maybe gasoline. Most years summer in the 'burbs for Miller just meant a slightly more relaxed pace at work, and evenings spent in the yard or having a beer on the deck instead of watching serial murders on TV. He loved the ease of summer, whether it was being able to park his car in the driveway and not have to scrape ice off his windows, or simply walking out the door in the morning with no need for boots or a jacket. This summer though was going to be different.
Irving Spotnitz pulled the drapes to one side so he could look out his giant picture window across the cul-de-sac at his neighbour who had just emerged for the day. Being a high school teacher Spotnitz typically left earlier in the morning than the accountant and arrived home long before the workaholic. Miller had the biggest and nicest house on the block, sitting right at the back of the cul-de-sac as if it was...the sentinel...or, the the captain of the rowing team. Damn, as a writer Irving expected himself to be able to come up with a better metaphor. He watched as the accountant bent over and picked up his papers...Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, and the USA Today. Miller shuffled through his papers, growing increasingly agitated and dropping them one by one on the step. It wasn't the headlines for May 30th 2007, that had him irritated though, it was the fact that he was missing the Wall Street Journal.
"Son of a bitch" stomped Miller who checked the bushes and the mailbox to no avail. Scanning his surroundings, growing more agitated he saw his neighbour exit his house across the street. The man's name escaped Larry but since he always seemed like the pompous intellectual type it was probably some sort of pussy name like Elliot or Millhouse. No, those weren't quite right. Why didn't he listen more when his wife told him things? Miller returned the polite wave and tried to look normal, tried to control his raging emotions. Where was his bloody paper? He knew that it really didn't matter because he was not returning to work anytime soon, but he didn't want to lose touch with the world he had immersed himself into and used as his measuring stick for years. Was that idiot smirking at him?
It felt deliciously snarky to take pleasure in his neighbour's meltdown. For years the papers were all gone and off the stoop by 7am, but for the second straight week they were now sitting later and later and later. This morning was the latest yet, 9:18 am the accountant had finally emerged. It was practically hedonistic! Irving entered his garage through the man door, hit the button to raise the large car door, and then pulled his garbage to the curb. He watched in smug satisfaction as the look of terror crossed the face of the accountant, whose head swivelled left and right, finally cluing in that all the other 8 houses on the street had refuse bins at the curb. Checking his watch Spotnitz estimated that Irving had between 5 and 10 minutes to get his bins to the curb or miss the pickup. It's one thing to miss pick up in the winter when things freeze, but it's a totally different scenario to miss it in the summer when temperatures soar, and garbage begins to really stink.
Miller looked all around his garage but couldn't find the garbage bins anywhere. What kind of man doesn't take out his own trash? What kind of man relies on his wife to take care of absolutely every little domestic thing? There was a stack of pizza boxes and one bag of garbage on top, the sum total of the week's refuge since his wife had left him.
"Your bins are in the backyard, on the side of the house", Larry hadn't heard Irving approach and besides jumping from surprise found himself doing some mental gymnastics to see if any of his last few seconds of muttering out loud had to do with his nosy neighbour. "That's where Linda keeps them," Irving motioned with his fingers, in case Larry didn't know where to find his backyard.
Irving felt a bit embarrassed for Miller who seemed to be having a tough time with things.
"No car?" asked Irving, scanning the almost empty garage. Larry waved him forward as he exited the garage and headed through the gate to the backyard to locate the bins. From somewhere far off the two men could hear the rumble of a truck, and they turned their heads in unison toward the noise.
Picking up their pace, they arrived at the bins, and grabbed a hold of one each. "No, car" replied Larry. "It was a company car. They took it back when they... laid me off".
"Sorry", mumbled Irving, as he felt his neighbour's pain. As a high school teacher Irving had a couple years of being a substitute, and a couple in a rural township, but since then job security was as sure a thing as anything else in this crazy world.
The two got the bins to the curb just as the garbage truck pulled onto their street. They grinned at each other in acknowledgment of their achievement. They probably had 2 minutes to spare. Watching the garbagemen at work it seemed odd to both at how happy go lucky the workers seemed, and how the young and the more veteran sanitation employee joked around with each other.
"I have an old '69 Mustang" Larry resumed their conversation after the garbage truck had pulled away and they could speak again at normal volumes. "A coupe. It's parked at my cousin's place, outside of Latrobe".
Irving just nodded his understanding. Latrobe was about 45 minutes southeast of Pittsburgh. It obviously didn't run. "You thinking of fixing it up?"
"I don't know. Not sure about anything at the moment. Don't know about a job, a wife, this house. An old car doesn't seem a priority." Miller seemed to suddenly snap out of his morose "Anyway, I've got to get back to it...not sure what...but it...read my papers, and stuff. Thanks for your help."
"Sure thing neighbour. It was nice to meet you. I'll be around. My wife went on vacation, so I'm alone this summer too." The tone in Irving's voice made Miller raise an eyebrow just a tad, but at the same time pull his head back a couple telltale inches. It was a way for one man to say to another man...tell me more if you want to, but it's okay if you don't, I don't really need to know...probably don't actually care. Irving decided not to elaborate but did add, "I like the peace and quiet. I like to write in the summer. I'm working on a novel at the moment."
Miller just nodded. Sounded just like an academic to be pouring his time and effort into something that would have no monetary payoff.
"Well thanks again, maybe I'll see you around then," and Miller strode into his house while Spotnitz crossed the street to his own home.
As Larry Miller, unemployed CPA and self-proclaimed efficiency expert closed the door behind him he swore to himself. "That son of a bitch stole my paper, I know it. That smug academic living off the taxpayer like a leach. I'm going to prove he stole my paper and nail him for it!"
As Irving Spotnitz entered his home, whistling a happy tune he said out loud to an empty house. "What a phoney! Those Wall Street types are all the same. If they can't measure it with a stock price it isn't worth anything to them. What a miserable life!" Irving had zero interest in the Wall Street Journal but he felt no guilt at having snuck out early to grab it creating havoc with his neighbour's day. Hell, he thought to himself, I probably did him a favour!
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