Some Things You Just Shouldn't Mess With

At our last Dinners for 8 get together I related a story about the only time I can recall calling the police on a neighbor. They committed a heneous crime and I just couldn't let them get by with it.

Let me give you a little background: My plate was very full at the time of the incident. I was back and forth to my parents while my father battled cancer. It was a four hour trip down to Magnolia Springs (AL), where my parents live, and, at this point in his battle, I generally stayed for at least a week at a time and went down about every other week. After the stress of the stay I had to turn around and make the four hour trip back.

Add to that the fact Jim had resigned from his job and taken another one in Pennsylvania. That meant being responsible for everything around the house and keeping everything in perfect order so the house could be shown for sale at any time.

After one trip to South Alabama I was particularly exhausted and looking forward to relaxing and going to bed early. The neighbors across the lake were not so inclined. As I drove into the subdivision around five in the afternoon I saw cars parked up one side of the street and down the other. Cars parked in the cul de sacs. Cars on side streets. Cars everywhere.

William had come home from college to welcome me back and spend the night. As the evening wore on, we could hear the voices of the occupants of the cars get louder and louder.
We could hear more and more laughter. We could hear the music get louder and louder. Could it be copius quantities of alcohol impare one's hearing?

We sat on our lovely deck overlooking the lake and enjoyed some of the music until I decided I was too exhausted and getting a good night's sleep is what I needed most. The master bedroom in our Birmingham house opened to the deck via a large, sliding glass door which, on this evening served to capture and amplify the sounds coming from across the lake. Try as I might, I could not block out the sound and get to sleep. I tossed and turned and finally just got out of bed to otherwise occupy my mind.

William and I finally agreed there was nothing we could do except ignore the noise as much as possible and make the best of it. We reasoned that since the party had started so early they would probably run out of steam, food, and booze around midnight and everyone would go home. The bewitching hour came and went with no signs of the party letting up. "O.K." we said, "The party will surely be over by 1 a.m." By one the karaoki was well under way and, true to form, the singers were far more talented in their mind than they were in reality. We decided to just laugh about it and let the revelers have their fun.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when, nearing 2 a.m., a party goer decided to do his karaoki rendition of 'Sweet Home Alabama'. And the rest of the revelers chimed in with the "Ooo. Ooo. Ooooo." portion. Before long everyone was involved. Some things you just shouldn't mess with. 'Sweet Home Alabama' is one of them.

Although this was certainly an emergency in my mind, I only dialed the Sherriff's non-emergency number. In my weariest voice I explained about my dad, and my exhaustion, and the party showing no signs of stopping. They promised to respond. William and I turned off all the lights and watched in darkness so no one would suspect we had registered a complaint.. We knew when the deputy arrived because the singing was interrupted with a collective "Awwwwwwwwhhhh."

Some things you shouldn't mess with. 'Sweet Home Alabama' is one of them.