It's Mrs. Roper's Fault

This is a toy I was given to play with for my birthday about 3 years ago. My Dad got a phone call from a friend at the bank. Apparently, some poor soul had borrowed money to buy a beat to hell 1984 Corvette and now was unable to make his notes. My Dad's friend let him have it for what was owed, which was a pittance. Dad knew that I had been looking for a project car so he gave it to me for my birthday. I was thrilled. I was 16 in 1984 and this was the car all of the guys dreamed about. It was in pretty bad shape. The targa top was shattered, the electronic dashboard didn't work, the seats were torn all to hell and the whole damn thing shaked when you went faster than 50 mph.

I spent many, many weekends working on it. I was King of the Garage, Master of the Shop, Overlord of the Auto.

Less than a year after I started to play with it, my wife and I decided to separate. I moved into the mother-in-law quarters of a dowager here in town. I took my clothes and my truck and that was it. The place was furnished in early '70's grad student and I quickly settled into my little piece of hell.

The old lady that owned the house was the spitting image of Mrs. Roper. I never saw her when she wasn't in her house coat and fuzzy slippers. She smoked like a freight train and constantly kept her nose in what little business I had. I paid her two months rent up front and was always early with each month's check, but she acted like I was gonna stiff her at any minute. One day, there wasn't much going on at work, so I stayed home to practice my bum skills. I'm splayed on the couch in my boxers, drinking a cold one and watching Jerry Springer. There was a knock on the door, which was very surprising since nobody even knew where I lived, I was too embarrassed, and there is Mrs. Roper in her Sunday go to meetin' house coat.

Mrs. Roper: "I just wanted to make sure you were ok, I saw your truck in the driveway and I know that it's a work day for you."

me: "I'm fine, I'm just taking the day off and brushing up on my Sanskrit." (as I swig from the beer)

Mrs. Roper: "Sanskrit? Is that some kind of plumbing?"

me: "Nevermind, it was a bad joke. I'm fine."

Mrs. Roper: "So you haven't lost your job? Because rent is due next week."

That was pretty typical of every conversation that we ever had. She raised my rent twice in the year I was staying there. The second time was the final straw. I banged on her door to give her my rent. She had one of those wrought iron storm doors and the inside door was open giving me a clear view into her living room. The place was rampant with cats and there was a single lounge chair in front of the television. Next to the chair was an ash tray the size of a hubcap sitting on the floor. It would have been impossible to place another butt into that ash tray. When I bang on the door, nothing happens for a few minutes so I bang again. Finally, the lounge chair rocks forward and Mrs. Roper rolls out of it and comes to the door. She cracks it open and leans out when she sees that I'm holding a check. I can't focus on what color house coat she is wearing today or on any of the dozens of cats swarming around her legs because in her mouth is a cigarette with an ash almost an inch long. I know she said something to me because I saw the cigarette move up and down. Finally, the ash shakes off and falls to the ground and I snap out of my reverie.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Roper, what did you say?"

"I said your rent will be $50 more next month."

"Another $50? Are you just gonna keep raising my rent."

"As long as the cost of my utilities keep going up," and then her bony hand reached out and snatched my check.

So that was the end of my stay at hotel Roper. I was there in the first place because it was cheap and I still had a mortgage I was responsible for paying. At that point, a regular apartment was no more expensive, so I moved. I found out later that she had the nerve to tell the mail man that my new apartment complex "stoled" her tenant.

The point in telling this depressing story is what happened to my toy while I was living there. I had done some work on it and had brought it back to Mrs. Roper's house so that I could drive it that week and make sure the new exhaust that I put on it was ok. The drive where I was allowed to park had some kind of huge bushy shrub next to it and I had gotten a little close to it a couple of times. It was no big deal, I was planning on painting the 'Vette anyway. Then, one day, I was in a hurry and barely glanced at my rear view mirror as I flew out of the drive. I heard a horrendous ripping noise as I brushed against the shrub. I hadn't realized that Mrs. Roper had severely trimmed the shrub and now instead of soft leaves against the side of the car, I had tagged a couple of inch thick branch stubs. This is the result.
Cute huh? Anyway, after my divorce was final, I moved back into the house and treated myself to a brand new car. Now I had three vehicles and it didn't take me long to realize that I could only drive one. I sold the truck and since I haven't played with the Corvette in over a year, the time has come to sell it too. I took pictures of it this morning and now I'm just waiting for somebody to take it off of my hands. I have mixed emotions about seeing it go.