Disturban Living

My aide lives in the middle of D.C., and she sometimes remarks how quiet it is out here. It seems that way, I concede, but you might be surprised.

Not long after we moved in, a neighbor casually mentioned that our place had once been occupied by drug dealers. This explained why the front door was splintered through and held together with screws. (We replaced it pronto.) We had similar suspicions about a rough young trio who later rented the unit above our bedrooms. There was never proof, but I can't think of anything else that attracts a steady stream of sketchy-looking visitors for a few minutes at a time. Their more charming callers would shout up from the street to make sure it was worth the arduous trek to the door.

Our block has also been the scene of several car accidents. The worst two happened in the middle of the night and involved, shockingly, young male drivers and excessive speed. One guy managed to flip his Civic onto its roof, and the other took out a whole line of parked cars. Afterwards, as a bunch of us stood around gawking in our bras and panties, a woman wailed hysterically at the dazed driver: "You ruined my car! How could you do that?" Was the lamented conveyance a brand-new BMW? A vintage Mustang, perhaps? Try a crappy old Ford Tempo. She should have thanked him.

Then there was the woman across the street who went to the islands and came back with more than a tan. We've all had a holiday fling, but this gal brought hers home. Great idea, right? What could go wrong? Well, he could prove unwilling or unable to find a job. And you could have second thoughts and decide to break up with him. And then he could retaliate (rather effectively, I would say) by offing himself in your home. It's been known to happen.

The worst thing by far happened around the corner several years ago. A man decided his wife was having an affair and was going to leave him. As she prepared to fetch their young daughter from day camp, he grabbed a knife and stabbed her. She made it next door, where the neighbor called 911, but died soon thereafter at the hospital. Meanwhile, Prince Charming locked himself in the house and threatened to blow the place up, so the gas was shut off and the area evacuated. We had a police cordon out front well into the evening, but eventually they shot in a bunch of tear gas and hauled him out. That unit was home to the Nixons in the '40s, so it was already steeped in bad juju; I hope the owner brought in an exorcist after this.

We've often wondered if Parkfairfax has more than its share of crazy; unfortunately, that's impossible to quantify. We've known countless oddballs - a few with clinical diagnoses, most without - and we encounter tipsy neighbors with surprising regularity on evening walks. With apologies to David Sedaris, everyone seems crazy once you put your mind to it.