Open letter to Parents of a Fucking Crankwhore

For now the cleanup process next door is winding down. The Crankwhore's balcony is full of garbage bags of insulation that the crew had to rip out of the walls (a process that is none too quiet, take it from me). Today I was supposed to be visited by someone from the cleanup company to test our unit for possible contamination. The appointed time came and went, and still no one showed up. I finally called and was told some crap about the Whitcombs (Crankwhore mommy and daddy) wanting the Health Dept present or some such nonsense.

I was mildly irritated by the failure of the company to test my unit (translation: I was irked that I couldn't work in my pyjamas like I normally do. Further translation: I had to wear a bra all day. Grrrrrrrrr). But I was infuriated when I called the HOA president for clarification. He explained that the Whitcombs were "not being very cooperative" but the Board was meeting to discuss options that would make them more so. I had hoped that finding a METH LAB in their darling daughter's unit would produce a turnaround in the protestations of wide-eyed innocence, complaints of harassment and general argumentativeness that have characterized every response of theirs to attempts to make them take some responsibility for her actions (the responsibility is theirs because the property was bought in their name). But no, they don't want to pay for contamination testing so they aren't being "cooperative."

I won't pretend to know the ins and outs of the law, but I personally don't think they should have the option of being uncooperative. Their daughter was convicted and imprisoned on a federal drug charge...they shouldn't get to act inconvenienced and cry about impingements on THEIR rights, or whatever their argument is. Even though I have their address (Tery received copies of several letters addressed to them when she served on the Board last year) I realize I probably shouldn't engage them directly. But oh, how I'd like to. Here is the letter I'd send:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whitcomb:

I'm sorry your daughter is a filthy, worthless drug dealer. I'm sorry you failed miserably as parents. I can't imagine why she had to turn to a life of crime, since it's obvious you've indulged her and pandered to her every moment of her life. Perhaps this is where she gets her ludicrous ideas of lack of responsibility. But I'm sorry because I'm the one that has to live with the consequences of her (and your) actions. Having to pay for contamination testing will probably take a chunk out of that tax refund, I'll bet, but hey... I didn't make her move in next to me and I certainly didn't make her decide to operate a meth lab. If you shouldn't pay for it, who should? Who else is responsible? If I had my way, the lot of you would be over there on your hands and knees licking up every drop of contaminated material and sucking every contaminated fume out of the walls yourselves. That's kind of draconian, I know, so I guess it's lucky for all of you that such decisions are not up to me. Taking responsibility is hard sometimes, but it's what grown-ups do. Your little contribution to society made this enormous mess. If I were you I'd drop the harassed, persecuted routine, GROW UP and CLEAN IT UP.

Yours Sincerely,
E

Well, it sounded a lot angrier in my head. Let's keep in mind that supposedly Mr. Crankwhore actually manages an apartment complex for a living. If the tables were turned and he had possible contamination coming into HIS home, I guarantee he would scream bloody murder until it was cleaned up. Of course, this opinion was formed without ever having met the man, which is really what I'm best at.