Welfare Check

My neighbor was an asshole. Gonja lived a level above me, and had no regard for anybody but himself. When I moved in initially, we didn't have any issues. I often saw Gonja going into his spot while I chilled out front on the stoop, and we'd greet each other every time. He was an older black male, probably in his late 30s, who appeared to have his stuff together. He had a pimped out silver Audi with chrome rims and tinted windows. The woman who seemed to be his girlfriend often wore scrubs, so I assumed she was working in the medical field. I had no reason to think anything less of Gonja.

For the first few months of my occupancy, I had no issues with him. Once the winter months rolled around, however, my living situation wasn't quite as cool. A few times I was awoken around 3 a.m. on weekday nights by the thumping that was caused by his stupid ass stereo. The frustrating part about it is that he never responded to my knocking at the door. I had to throw snowballs at the windows to get his attention. He actually had the nerve to cop an attitude about the snow balls once.

Aside from the stereo situation, I had an issue with the smell of weed that would seep through the floor regularly. Gonja and his boys seemed to light up at least every other hour. After some time, it became event that Gonja was selling from his apartment. The stream of customers didn't bother me until one guy knocked on my door at 2 a.m. looking to buy some trees.

Things really got weird once his mom, Betty, moved in. Betty was an older black woman with a thick southern accent. She was real "country." Even though Gonja looked fresh as ever in his attire, Betty would rummage through garbage in the neighborhood for soda cans. On a couple of occasions, she even asked me for quarters. As time passed, I became cool with Gonja's mom. Eventually, she even started filling me in on what was going down in the neighborhood (story forthcoming in a future post).

One afternoon after work, I found Betty waiting on the stoop. I knew she was waiting for me. When I pulled up, she propped up immediately and walked to my car. Something was up.

Betty: Can I use your phone, please? I need to call my daughter.
Me: Sure. You okay?
Betty: No. Not at all. I need to get the hell out of here. He's a fuckin asshole!
Me: Who?
Betty: Gonja. I've had enough of him.
Me: (thinking he hit her) Is he home? What's up? Do you need a ride somewhere?
Betty: (crying) Maybe. I just need to see if my daughter can pick me up. I can't take this anymore! He treats me so bad!
Me: I'm sorry.
Betty: (hysterical)I don't know what I ever did to that boy. I'm sittin here broke, collecting cans. Do you know every month he steals my welfare check from me?!?!