A few nights ago, Frankly, I was lying on the couch late at night watching Jersey Shor..I mean, a highly intellectual SBS documentary, when I heard the unmistakeable sound of a car careering out of control, desperately attempting to brake and, finally the crump of impact as it hit a concrete fence.
Being incredibly nos..errm..concerned about the welfare of those involved…I donned trackies and made my outside to investigate and guess what? I’d never seen that many of my neighbours, not just together in one place at one time, but ever.
As the driver of the car had apparently recovered enough to rapidly depart the scene scattering debris as he went, the gathering of neighbours was left to stand about clad in various degrees of pyjamadom decrying his idiocy, poking about in the wreckage of the fence, telling near-miss anecdotes and generally revelling in the novelty of finally meeting those we share snippets of our lives with through apartment walls.
In a town of 9-5 public servants, the most interaction I have with my neighbours is nodding hello as we all rush for our cars or buses in the morning and when we all come home at the same time. I couldn’t tell you who I share walls with, I wouldn’t even be able to identify them by sight, let alone names.
As it turns out, we were all, sadly, watching that “terribly intellectual SBS documentary”, we’ve all seen the white Toyota drive at incredible speeds down our narrow street and we’re all nos…concerned citizens. (Also, Tim from 38 has both a Southern Cross tattoo AND a tribal armband tattoo. Shame, Tim, shame.)
It seems that a car crash can apparently knock down the metaphorical fences between neighbours too.