text: “I have Blue Angle Pins, Hats, and Balloons. Get one for your kid. No kids...no worries! Grab one for your nephew.” Dam This Guy! Get Out The Road! The pesky peddler in the middle of the median was slowing traffic down. I screamed out loud again. Get out the road....I want to go home! My damn temper was governing my thoughts! Why did I waste my breath? I knew better. The street salesman could care less, he kept moving from car to car as he hawked cheap souvenirs. Another year and another air show. We need to move! All I wanted to do this evening was attach myself to the couch like an old worn-out piece of velcro. Stuck, but still capable of making a move. After what seemed like hours I finally made it to the entrance. My stress deflated. A couple of cold beers and today would be history. I was praying the neighbors were still at work., that’s all I needed right now. As I started walking toward my apartment two Blue Angels flew in perfect formation. Their dazzling areal display painted the sky as my heart pumped to the beat of the engines. I hated the congestion from the Blue Angels but dam this show was intriguing. The sheer force of the Super Hornet and the way they moved always kept me gazing up. It reminds me of playing Mario Cart. You could always catch player two with a super boost. Now that I was home I went into stealth mode to avoid my neighbors. Cat-like reflexes moved me through the parking lot like Pink Panther. Sneaking around every corner with careful precision. Yet, being stealthy was only in my own mind. At 6'3 I was too clumsy to sneak in. It was all a pipe dream from Saturday morning Kung Fu movies. The only good thing about the air show was the loudness. Maybe they won't hear me enter, god please don't let me see them today. The separation between apartments was only an arm's length. Which meant you had to be super careful when entering. If he sensed you nearby, he would open the door and watch you oh...so carefully. Maverick was the chosen name for this confident, short-tempered blue falcon. He was, without a doubt a complete jerk. No matter the circumstance his anger always made him bang on the bedroom walls. Screaming, quiet down over there! Does this asshole not realize the walls are paper-thin? I remember the day we moved in. He stood outside watching us with a thousand-yard stare. I’ll never forget his stance, it was daunting and scary. Something was out of place. He must have seen some serious action. Why was he sizing us up? It has to be something from the past. I ran a bar right next to the base, so I knew all about the desert stare. We had folks belly up to that old plank of wood from every corner of the world. Most served on the base. Some served in combat and the rest were still battling it out upstairs. I approached each case with a cold beer and warm whiskey. Back at the apartment Maverick's wife looked lost and on edge. You could tell by the look in her eyes. Throughout the day his wife came out and held onto his arm. I could see her begging and pleading for him to go inside. Except, he sat still. He wore these oversized headphones to block out the loudness from the Blue Angels. The only thing that moved was those glaring eyes. I tried twice to introduce myself to the old saltwater commander only to no avail. As we hauled in taped beer boxes, worn down lamps, and half-broken furniture the watchman greeted every move. During our short stay, we learned that Maverick worked part-time at the base for SOCOM. Each morning he would arise at five am and head off to work. Always making sure to slam the front door, which in turn rattled our entire apartment. Each day it felt like the trusses would collapse and the shanty would crumble. His daily departure would awake both dogs. And stir us out of a dead slumber. It was after this initial slamming of the door that I decided to leave him a post-it note. The first of many. Dear Maverick & Company, I work nights, you work days. Can we find a happy medium? Maybe you could stop slamming the door at 5 am. Before heading to work that evening I found a note on our front door. Hey Log Head, Try investing in earbuds. I could care less about your schedule. Regards, your neighbor After speaking with my fiancé I decided to squash the drama. And let bygones be bygones. But the next day Maverick had a different plan. Dear Log Head, The conversation was last night about who gave your co-worker herpes it is not something I want to hear at 4 am. It would be nice if you could refrain from talking so loud after 10 pm. P.s I hope you learn a lesson from your co-worker about STDs Not Maverick We both became addicted to leaving notes. Maverick, Do all SOCOM members spy on their neighbors.? There has to be a better choice in music than Barry Manilow? Your concerned neighbor, ( aka log-head) The following day I received this note after stepping into a bag full of dog shit. Log Head, I took it upon myself to pick up your dog's shit. And I brought over some extra bags, I assume you’re out. I also dropped the shit in front of your doorstep for easier clean-up. With Love Your neighbor Can you believe this asshole, he thinks we have the only dogs in the complex. I am over this!!! Dear Poop Patrol, We are not the only residents in the complex with dogs. Maybe you should bring the SOCOM team out to run an investigation? Do your friends know about your secret crush on WHAM? If they had a couple more members would you consider them a boy band? Your concerned neighbor, And the notes never stopped. Log Head I know the poop came from one of your dogs. And I am not a WHAM fan... it’s my wife’s favorite! At this point, I figured I would start messing with them since they watched our every move. I recalled when we first moved in that his wife screamed...SNAKE!!!! I overheard the entire dilemma. The twisty serpents ruined their day. Maverick, Our pet snake escaped last night. There is a slight chance he squeezed through your front door. His name is Mr. Huggy. I’ll be at work tonight so if you could hold on to him until tomorrow that would be great. Your concerned neighbor, While I thought my note would scare him into rage the opposite happened. The banging on the walls stopped along with the daily notes and threats. During this period we received this letter from his wife. Dear Log Head & Company, My name is Mia and I am the wife of Captain Sam Birch, The Captain is doing fine these days. He is a man of much pent-up anger but your notes and letters over the last year have seemed to put him at great ease. I am not sure why that is but I thank you. When the captain was serving in Noth Africa, on assignment he was struck with great trauma. To this day he still has yet to recover. "At this point, I paused my reading, looked down at the paper, and braced myself for what was about to learn." Captain was on a March when he fell behind. His superior officer told him to "hurry up" but he couldn't physically move any faster. This sent his superior commander into a fit of rage and Captain Sam Birch was confined for 3 months. His offense was simple. He was charged under Article 257 as a "Straggler." He spent three months in Military jail and forfeited two-thirds of his month's pay. But the real damage was done by the taunting. His new name was Sam the Straggler. This taunt put him into a rage. With that being said, your notes, as crazy as they are have enabled Sam ( aka Maverick) to have some type of friendship again. For that I thank you. Our marriage is on the upside. It took me about a week to process the letter. As crazy as it was. I remember being taunted. It's some serious shit. The following Sunday I awoke early. Knocked on Maverick's door. Invited him outside to sit down in the lawn chair. Then I handed him a pair of oversized headphones. We both sat in silence as we watched the Blue Angels prepare for the upcoming airshow. We also stared down any new tenants.