We came back with a load of stuff from the old garage destined for the old shed, and found that the shed had been vandalized while we were away. Two-thirds of the boards I’d put over the broken window, those lowest to the ground, were torn off, and some of the exterior sheathing next to the door was pulled away from the frame and the insulation behind it torn out, too. Some of the previous owner’s detritus which I’d placed outside the shed door awaiting yet another dump run had been scattered as far as thirty feet away. I saw it as someone, most likely one or more children, staking an illegitimate claim. I was immediately driven from my happy place.
While we were unloading the stuff that came into the house, three little girls probably between six and eight or nine years old came up to us and their ringleader asked if we were the ones “who put locks our our shed”. “Our” shed, as if she were one of several to whom it belongs. I corrected the little bitch, saying “No, that’s our shed. I put the locks on it. We bought this place, it’s ours, and the the things inside the shed are ours.” Her response was “We played and kept some things in there”. Amethyst asked, “So you’re the ones who vandalized our shed, then?”. The little girls’ eyes all widened, and I interjected with “Yes, it was. Of course it was them”.
And of course it was. The little bitches were confronting us as if it was their right. The ringleader said that they’d heard some banging but don’t know who was doing it because they were inside eating dinner. Bullshit. Knowing that it would do no good and would likely be taken as a challenge, I informed the trio that if our place is vandalized again I’ll be calling the cops. At that, they left.
After unloading, we dashed off to obtain pseudo-food, and upon returning we watched the first three and a fourth girl’s game of catch expand from their adjoining yards into ours — the fourth girl backed into our yard, and kept backing deeper into it. The original trio seemed to be making it a point to remain entirely within their own yard. After we were inside, I looked out the window to see the fourth little bitch backed to about six feet in front of the truck, and saw the very next throw to her fly over her head to hit the truck. She threw her hands to her mouth as if gasping in surprise, which was bullshit as evidenced by the look on her smug little redneck face, and out the door I went.
I’ve changed my mind: I will be calling the cops tomorrow and one or both of us will be lodging a complaint with the manager of the park on Monday. I won’t accuse the little bitches, but the encounter with them will be reported accurately because it’s potentially relevant. We’ve got plans for this place that don’t include allowing vandalism, and we’ve just added surveillance cameras to the shopping list that already included a fence.
When I was a child myself, the only reason I preferred children over adults was that I was unable to defend myself against adults. Now, I’d be content to spend the rest of my life completely unaware of the existence of any human child. Where’s the Pied Piper when you need him?