Fri 4 Aug 2006
When we lived in Orlando before I always felt a little bad at how little time we spent with our neighbors. I knew most of the people who lived on our cul de sac, but some of the houses are rentals and have more frequent turnover. Yesterday I saw one of our neighbors that I had known before, and I greeted him as he stopped to get his mail. He said hi and turned away as though we saw each other every day. That was a little odd since I hadn’t seen him in three years.
Disregarding his rudeness I asked him how he had been. “Busy” was his reply. “I’m working three jobs, seven days a week.”
We talked for a few minutes about his ventures. His choice to work three jobs didn’t appear to be from necessity but rather a desire to be more financially independent soon.
As we were wrapping up our conversation he asked me, “What was that big semi truck doing in front of your house earlier this week?”
I explained that it was the shipment of our household goods arriving from Hungary.
“How long were you gone?”
“Three years. Goes by fast, no? Did you meet the people who stayed in our house?”
“No. I never met them. In fact, I didn’t even know you had moved.”
Such is life in American suburbia.
