The Curious Case of the Organ Grinder's Monkey-the Dressmaker's Dummy

Ah, the organ grinder's monkey. In this case, I called him the dressmaker's dummy. Same thing, really.

I do remember advising you to always bypass the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder if you want to ever get anything done. Even the middle-aged malady I like to call CRS (Can't Remember Shit) hasn't touched that one- and last week was a prime example.

Some neighbors came up to me and asked for my help. Now, my ex used to call me "Muggins"-meaning that I was always a soft touch for anyone who wanted anything (until I divorced him. Then he called me a lot of names that I won't repeat here). It's possible that I have always been a softie-or, rather, a sucker-for a hard luck story.

I went around to my neighbor's place and heard the most unbelievable story about drug dealing and drug taking just outside their back window. There are two flats with windows facing a fence, and the area is very secluded. So local addicts and dealers jump a low fence and go out there and do their thing. My neighbor has been trying to get a better fence to stop this from happening. And I saw all the documented evidence that showed me how many times both neighbors have contacted the police, the landlord-anyone who would help. But nobody helped. And now comes the good part...

My next door neighbor is called Terry. I call him Two-faced Terry (or, two-faced tattooed Terry), because he kept pestering me to do all his computer work (no please. No thank you. No nothing. Just demands, as if he was entitled to all my work), and when I finally told him that he needed to learn how to do it all himself, he demanded to know why he should, since I would do it all for him. So I stopped. I said no. And then he stopped talking to me, and spent a lot of time saying a lot of very nasty things about me. Now, Terry has a personality disorder, which he tells everyone who will listen is caused by brain damage, which in turn is caused by someone putting an axe in his skull. Ummm...seriously? And he tried it on for years: let's go to the cafe for a cup of tea, or how about a walk in the park..whatever. Eww...he's got no teeth, he's ugly, not very bright, and just-yuck. You know what they say: shit happens. Sometimes it lives next door...

Terry, because he desperately wants attention, and wants everyone to suck up to him, took it upon himself to try to ingratiate himself to everyone in this little community. He decided to go to the housing manager-then to the local councillor-to get this fence for his friends. So he finally got the fence built: a horizontal wooden fence in the wrong place, making it easy for anyone to climb over the thing. Horizontal. Like a climbing frame with wood thick enough for the addicts to rest their drugs on while they shoot up.

Well-Ray and Tanya asked me if there is anything I can do to start the process going; they would carry on afterwards themselves. I said that I would see what I could do, but I would see the whole thing to the end, because I don't start things and not finish them. Activist for life, I guess...

I emailed the CEO of the local authority, and the Director of Properties, and I got a very nice email back. I had suggested that the management come down to the community to see exactly where the problems were. I got a return email several hours later, and we emailed each other a few times to set up a meeting. This was on Monday.

On Friday morning the management-and the police-arrived to see the problems I mentioned. All I had to say was "drugs"-plus "disabled people" and "lawsuit" and they all sprinted down on Friday to have a look. Unfortunately, Two-Face Brain Damage nearly hijacked the meeting, by trying to tell the managers how wonderful he is, and how he trained 30 gardeners (numbers raised exponentially from the two he told me about when I first met him. A baby boom, perhaps. Or delusions-more likely).

I had pre-warned the managers just before Terry burst out of his front door to take over, so they knew what was going on. Long, sad story that I'll just leave you to imagine.

The outcome? The fence will be torn down, the area will be secured by the kind of fence (metal, vertical, hard to climb over) that should have been put there in the first place, and there will be CCTV to ensure the safety of all the residents.

The managers thanked me. Ray (the neighbor) thanked me. Terry cursed at me-as if I care. Terry gets my nomination for dressmaker's dummy-monkeys are too cute and too intelligent for me to insult them, even though they aren't organ grinders.

So that brings you up to date. I was unwell, but I haven't been bone idle. And when the whole thing is settled and all the work has been done, I'm just going to walk away. I didn't do all the work for thanks (good thing, because I didn't get much), I did it to help everyone. I won't be feeling a sense of accomplishment until everything that has been promised has been delivered.

Sometimes you just have to get off your little ass and take a stand, and put up a fight for your rights-and your safety. But you also need to know when to walk away.

I think that this will be my last attack of jumping in and protecting people's rights (and safety). I'll just live my life, and reward myself with Kettle Chips and Starbucks. Speaking of which....