It’s true that when I moved into this downtown house over a year ago, I had no idea I was moving into one of the sketchiest neighbourhoods in town. The two days we viewed the house, all we saw were gorgeous fireplaces and old-fashioned ceilings.
The evening we moved in, we pulled up at the house in our U-Haul and our neighbour immediately poked his head out from the upstairs window. He was blaring Britney Spears on a radio.
“HAI. I hope you don’t mind loud music. Do you need a hand?”
“Guard the U-Haul,” I whispered to Renee.
We’ve had some interesting encounters around here. One afternoon, a drunk man wandered into our house. We witnessed a police chase through our backyard. Somebody pooped on our front stoop.
I’ve never been more content to live in one place for so long.
Despite the shortcomings, this is a tight-knit little community seemingly oblivious to the surrounding city. The lady who runs the convenience store around the corner refers to me and Renee as “her little redheads.” I look forward to seeing her every week, sitting behind the counter in a hockey jersey with a cat on her lap.
People are friendly, much friendlier than when I lived near the university. Besides the whole poop incident, I mean. Nobody gets their tires slashed or household robbed.
It’s funny, because we poke fun at our neighbours a lot. They exude the crude Newfoundland stereotypes of being gambling, raucous, baloney-eatin’ folks. They’re the most interesting people I’ve ever met.
No idea what I’m talking about? Check out Donnie Dumphy’s videos, he’s a local legend. He’s mimicked every Newfie characteristic possible, and he does it perfectly.
While I suppose it’s insulting to some, most of us laugh about it. It’s the Newfie way.