Chronicles outside my bay window
Most people move further away from 8 Mile. I moved closer to it. I currently live 4 blocks north of 8 Mile in Fabulous Ferndale. I'm actually surprised at how well the neighborhood has held up...with the exception of one house on this block.
That house happens to belong to my neighbor.
Currently, my neighbor has a guest over. This guest is driving a power chair (not a Rascal scooter but the kind of power wheelchair that a quadraplegic or Stephen Hawking tools around in...with the little joystick in the arm and the hoveround base) in the middle of the street with a small child in his lap. He is attempting to jump curbs in it, driving it across people's lawns, and the such. Now this gentleman in the power chair is not a quadraplegic or Stephen Hawking. He appears to be a healthy early-20's man with tattoos wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts. Oh boy, he almost flipped the chair over trying to speed up the driveway ramp from the street! He's not handicapped now, but he's one bad curb away from pitching out of that chair and spending the rest of his life shitting into a bag. How do I know he's not handicapped? Because he just got up off the chair, picked up the kid, and RAN into his house.
I only make note of this because the aforementioned man has been driving this power chair for AN HOUR. Perhaps he could not afford a trip to Cedar Point this year and he is trying to show his child a good time. Maybe he took the day off of work to spend time with his kids.
Nah.
My bet is he hasn't worked a day in his life and he only got the power chair because someone stole it and gave it to him in exchange for weed. So he uses it to joyride around the neighborhood.
This is only one small example of the kind of white-trashdom I'm living next door to. If I had more energy or thought that someone would read this, I would get more into it.
That house happens to belong to my neighbor.
Currently, my neighbor has a guest over. This guest is driving a power chair (not a Rascal scooter but the kind of power wheelchair that a quadraplegic or Stephen Hawking tools around in...with the little joystick in the arm and the hoveround base) in the middle of the street with a small child in his lap. He is attempting to jump curbs in it, driving it across people's lawns, and the such. Now this gentleman in the power chair is not a quadraplegic or Stephen Hawking. He appears to be a healthy early-20's man with tattoos wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts. Oh boy, he almost flipped the chair over trying to speed up the driveway ramp from the street! He's not handicapped now, but he's one bad curb away from pitching out of that chair and spending the rest of his life shitting into a bag. How do I know he's not handicapped? Because he just got up off the chair, picked up the kid, and RAN into his house.
I only make note of this because the aforementioned man has been driving this power chair for AN HOUR. Perhaps he could not afford a trip to Cedar Point this year and he is trying to show his child a good time. Maybe he took the day off of work to spend time with his kids.
Nah.
My bet is he hasn't worked a day in his life and he only got the power chair because someone stole it and gave it to him in exchange for weed. So he uses it to joyride around the neighborhood.
This is only one small example of the kind of white-trashdom I'm living next door to. If I had more energy or thought that someone would read this, I would get more into it.