Mr. Butt

Well, I’ve already mentioned my neighbors to the left as I face my door. They moved in over the weekend, and are very nice people. I was mistaken about the father/mother/son relationship though. The teenaged boy was actually the son of a friend and neighbor of theirs who simply volunteered to help them move. Nice kid. I wouldn’t have minded if he had been moving in.

Time to mention the disaster to my right.

Living on the other side of me are the Tattoed Lady and a guy we’ve been calling Harleyman or Buttman or Marlboroman. I think the name that may finally stick is “Mr. Butts”, like the character in the Doonesbury caroon strip, but the jury is still out. To explain Mr. Butts, let me show you a bit of my great outdoors:

Here’s a sample of the setting of my new apartment complex. It has older shade trees, and is very quiet and peaceful. A wood elf would feel quite at home here.

And here is my front door. I have a little garden (which was planted for me by the neighbors before I moved in) just in front, and and enclosed garden to the side, with a sliding door that leads into the kitchen. One of the things I love about this complex is that everything is so neat and tidy looking, and virtually everyone does something with their gardens. It isn’t necessarily all spectacular, but it really looks like someone cares here.

Here’s a better look inside the enclosed garden area. I didn’t have time to do much with it this year. The gravel needs leveling, and I may need to get a bit more fill, but it is a nice place to sit outside and read my morning paper. It gets a lot of direct sunlight, so I should have a good time with it next summer.

And here is Buttland:

A closer look, in case you are in any doubt of what those little white cast-aways on the ground are.

I don’t know if the Tattooed Lady won’t let Mr. Butts smoke indoors, or if he simply prefers to take in good air with the bad. But Mr. Butts spends most of his time in the evenings sitting on the front stoop, either talking on his cell phone or drinking beer or both. Regardless of what else he is doing, there is always a lit cigarette in hand.

Now, I probably wouldn’t even mention this if he kept his butts in his own little butt-garden. But Mr. Butts has a sense of competition. He is apparently considering entering the next Summer Olympics in the “Butt Throw” division. When he gets bored, and I believe he lives his life on the edge of ennui, he likes to go for distance with the butts. I further believe that the “bulls eye” of his endeavors is my enclosed garden.

When I moved in, I cleared my enclosed garden area of trash and debris. I assumed that the previous owners had been smokers, and was pleasantly surprised that no scintilla of aroma remained in the apartment from this. It appears I was blaming the wrong people for the butt-debris though. Every day, I find another couple of cigarette butts gracing the enclosed garden area. By less than remarkable coincidence, they are all on Mr. Butt’s side of the garden. Each day I refire these salvos back at Mr. Butt’s staging area. I originally was just throwing them out, but there is something heartwarming about returning these errant stubs to the origin of their birth.

It has been suggested that I just thow away the butts, and leave a cat turd behind on their doorstep for each butt found. It’s an enticing thought, but probably not real intelligent to follow through on.