Being Neighborly

On Sunday, we shoveled snow. Snow that had already turned to ice. How on earth that happens when it has remained ten degrees below freezing at all times, I don't understand. But we did our duty. We got out the shovel and the salt. We cleared off everyone's front steps and shovelled little paths to their outside parking spots. We salted liberally. We cleared the snow away from the garbage cans and mailboxes. We were nice neighbors (well, nice neighbors that could technically get sued if we didn't attempt to clear the walkways).
When we were all done, we noticed how frozen our neighbor Mr. Grouchy Pants' front stoop was. And since he's 200 years old and about as limber as an arthritic ice cube, we decided to clear up his sidewalk.

SCRAPE, SCRAPE (you know how loud it is scratching the excess snow off of the ice). I clear off the loose snow and ice. Then the front door opens and Mr. Wonderful pops his scrunched up little bald head out the door. "Hello" I say in my cheeriest, pretending I don't know that you secretly want me tarred and feathered, friendly voice. SLAM. He shuts the door. Just like that. He is so totally pissed off that he can't yell at me, because that would be dumb, you know, to yell at someone who is shovelling your walk. Like, what would you say to them? "Hey, you no good snow shovelling jerk. I was planning on breaking my hip right about there!"
About two minutes later as I'm salting everything his wife pops her head out the door and says "Thank you". So I proceeded to shovel and salt a path all the way to both of their car doors, sort of giggling to myself at how MAD Mr. Wet Hornet is going to be when he next walks to his car (well, storms to his car, he never actually walks there).

HA! Take that grouchy old fart!