Hello, neighbor. It’s me, the trampoline next door.
You look surprised. You think you’re sly, don’t you? I see you sneak a peek at me while you make your morning coffee. But sure, play dumb. I have no problem reminding you of the hell I’ve been through – the hell you continue to idly observe.
Your elderly neighbors impulse-purchased me in summer 2020. We were months into the pandemic, and grandma and grandpa were desperate to see their grandchildren. An ethical choice? I don’t know – I’m a trampoline. (At least I provide an outdoor activity, unlike their ping-pong table… pfffft. Pointless.)
I was a summer superstar. An instant hit. Parents, aunts, and uncles cheered as the kids performed their acrobatic tricks. At one point, I was even covered with soapy water! Ah, the joys of a bubble bath on a hot August day. But as you witnessed, a season of pure bliss devolved into utter chaos.
The temperatures cooled and your neighbors placed a blue tarp over my shiny face. Those amateurs thought it would shield me from the elements, but it turned me into a rainwater collection system. Then came the snow. Two inches became a foot, and one foot became two feet. My stretchy surface sagged to the ground. I was left in a sorry state of perpetual droop.
I figured I would bounce back in the spring, but I was so naive. The snow melted into a dirty pool, forming the ideal breeding ground for mosquitoes. Did you know those little fuckers can lay up to 300 eggs in a single bottle cap of water? Just imagine the debauchery that took place on my 12-foot, tarp-covered mat.
Grass started to grow, traveling up my legs, threatening to drown me. Have you seen Titanic, dear neighbor? I am Jack, helplessly handcuffed to the pipe as raging water fills the room. Be my Rose, and use your axe to break my chain.
You don’t seem to have a rapport with your street mates. What happened to the good old days of borrowing a cup of sugar, an egg or two? You really should check in on them more often. Maybe you could talk to them about my predicament. Now get off your sorry ass and tell them of my suffering!
Apologies. I lost my temper there. But do you actually think those folks are going to do anything about me? I don’t want to sound ageist, but they’re 80 years old! They hired a crew for delivery and assembly, so there’s no way in hell they’re carting my corpse away on their own. I’m a major eyesore, but they simply don’t give a shit!
I won’t hear the squeak of my springs ever again. I’ve felt the last flips I’ll ever feel. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Better yet, stick a sharp knife in me and tear me to shreds! The sweet relief I would feel after being weighed down for so long! Disassemble me, tossing my limp pieces into the vacant lot next door. Or make a Molotov cocktail and toss it right on over! Bullseye, bitches. Too violent? Okay, maybe just call the HOA and say I’m lowering property values. Claim that I was the source of West Nile detected earlier this year (and honestly, I might have been).
I don’t blame you for my circumstances, but you are complicit in this. If I have to withstand another snowfall, my entire bottom might fall out – a catastrophic event in the trampo community so painful you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. I am urging you to take action so that I can die with some dignity and respect.
P.S. You might want to power wash the side of your house… looking a little rough.