Behind My Door: Won’t you be my neighbor?

By Sandra Bernhardt

While shopping recently, I spied someone wearing a T-shirt that said, “MISTER ROGERS DID NOT ADEQUATELY PREPARE ME FOR THE PEOPLE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.” I mulled that over, and soon realized that I, too, had never been adequately prepared for neighbors.

G.K. Chesterton wrote, “We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbor.” That was the first time I’d ever seen God depicted as vindictive.

Don’t get me wrong; my neighbor, Evy, is a nice person. She just doesn’t belong on our block. She’s perfect. By the time my alarm goes off, Evy has served a warm breakfast quiche, coiffed her hair and knit an afghan with her teeth. Her children never look homeless and all, I say all, of her dishes match. Her family members never drink out of fast-food Moose Cups. 

And here’s the clincher: She has a pencil by her phone.

Unlike Evy, when my alarm goes off, I feel I’ve created a miracle when I manage to trowl on a little makeup and avoid putting my pantyhose on backward. Incidentally, one morning, still in a deep sleep, I inadvertently put my bra on backward. It was both disturbing and depressing to discover it fit better that way.

Irritating neighbors aren’t always people; sometimes they’re businesses. Let me explain: At one time, my family lived on Grove Street in Fort Atkinson. Just three houses away stood Hardee’s, a fast-food place. 

When we checked out the house on a dark winter night, we didn’t notice the restaurant. On the other hand, our three sons had eaten there many times. They were delirious! 

At the time we moved in, I was tackling three active guys, working full time and attending college. (Sorry, Evy, there was no time to serve a lovely “warm” breakfast quiche … as if I actually could!) And ditching bras saved me at least 15 minutes.

Exhausted from the move, I turned in early. I needed to get up by 5 a.m. to study for final exams. After just three hours of sleep, I was awakened by this:

“Ahhhhh, I’ll have three cheeseburgers with large fries and a Coke. Wait a minute! Make that two Cokes. Hey, you got any onion rings?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” a guy answered. “We don’t have those.”

“Welcome to Hardee’s! What can I get for you tonight?” a gal asked. 

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, let me have two orders of fries. And two beers! Ha! Ha! Ha!” 

She failed to laugh.

In order to avoid being short-staffed, I assumed management rotated those who handled the drive-through. It lowered the number of suicides.

After three more hours listening to such stimulating interactions, I had reached my limit. My clenching had snapped off a molar and the idea of “voluntary manslaughter” shot to the surface. No jury would convict me.

When I relate what happened next, no one will believe it. But, I swear, this is absolutely true:

Enraged, I threw on my purple robe “with matching bunny slippers” and charged down the street. (Today, it’s called “Power Walking.”)

As I stormed through the door, the cashier dropped to his knees and began to pray. The cook jammed a stainless steel strainer over his head and brandished a long plastic soup ladle. (Well, I exaggerated just a little right there.) But by the expression on their faces, it was obvious that every employee was wondering, “Is there a weapon hidden under that ugly purple robe?” Choosing life over curiosity, no one asked.

“How about turning that speaker down!” I screeched through my remaining teeth. Like Little Joe on “Bonanza,” I narrowed my eyes. I could feel an artery in my neck bulging. (When my boys were in trouble, they kept their eyes locked on that artery. It spoke volumes. One false move and they might hear, “NO D&D FOR A WEEK!) 

The cashier, still stunned by the sight of a raging 4-foot-9 woman in bunny slippers, yelled, “Hey Bill! Get on the roof!” 

“Bill” raced through the restaurant and out the door. As I watched, he scrambled up the ladder on the side of the building. I have no idea what he did up there, but thanks to this genius, the speaker blared even louder. 

Lucky for them, I let them live.

Note to my faithful readers: I can’t take it anymore! No offense, but, please, don’t you be my neighbor!

For more than 30 years, Fort Atkinson’s Sandra (Sandi) Bernhardt has enjoyed humorous public speaking in Wisconsin and beyond. During her career, she served as a human resources director, as well as a customer service consultant for a healthcare company. Active in the community, Sandy is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater and the mother of three grown sons.