This was over ten years ago, when I lived in an apartment complex. It was one of those big complexes that had 300+ units, and everyone pretty much kept to themselves. I never knew any of my neighbors beyond waving while getting the mail or running into the same people at the pool.

We didn’t have that many dogs in the complex because the apartment management company made it too expensive to have them. It was max two pets (cats/dogs), and you had to pay a deposit for each, which was a few dollars short of the monthly rent. On top of that, they charged a monthly rent fee and an application fee that you never saw again. It was highway robbery, but beyond that, it was a nice place to live compared to others in the area.

There was a lady, a bit older than me, who had a beautiful greyhound that seemed to have split personality issues. Some weeks, the dog acted like the grass was going to kill him, would jump at the sound of a bird, as if there was a T. rex in the tree that was about to eat him, and other weeks, he was super friendly and would run over to whomever he saw on the walk to get pets.

One day, I’m trying to get a package out of the mailbox that’s too big to fit, so I’m standing there, struggling for a few minutes, when the lady and an overly friendly version of the dog are also getting their mail. Being the shy person that I am, I have never said anything to the lady and would always direct myself to the dog. I made a comment, something like, “Ooh, feeling friendly today? Not scared of everything today? Why are you not like this all the time?”

The lady laughs and asks if I can keep a secret. Of course, I said yes, and she said, “This is Doug the 8th.” She fosters greyhounds when they are done racing, but the apartment complex wanted a new application fee for each “new” animal, so she purposefully fosters greyhounds that look just like the first one, so that no one was the wiser. It would typically take a few weeks for the dog to get used to being on grass, seeing cars zip by, and being on carpet, TV, etc., before it settled down and was ready for adoption.

I loved hearing how she found a loophole in the pointless application fee, and how I thought her dog had a split personality and never noticed it was a different dog. She thought this was funny, and so happy that her plan was working out. She and I would chat when I saw her out walking “Doug”. When I moved out a year or so later, she was up to Doug the 13th.

When Florida banned dog racing in 2020, I smiled when I thought of her and wondered what number she was up to.

I was about to take out a bunch of rubbish and pressed the button for the lift. Nothing happens for a few minutes, and I can hear people talking from the floor above, where they must be holding up the lift.

I pressed the button a few more times (which they must have heard because I could follow half their conversation). Still no movement in the lift.

After a few more minutes, I get impatient and take the stairs instead. I manage to press the lift call button on each floor whilst juggling my bin bags.

By the time I made it down and had thrown away all my rubbish, I got the satisfaction of seeing the lift stop at the last two floors and someone walking out with a very annoyed look on her face.

I live in a block of flats in South London where most of the neighbours know each other. I’ve been explaining this to my friend who has just moved in as a flatmate. 

There’s a knock on the door about 9 PM.

Flatmate: “Who’s knocking at this hour?!”

Me: “Oh! That’s Mariusz. He’s the Polish bloke from 302. He’ll be here to pick up Strudel.”

Strudel is my Corgi.

Flatmate: “Why is he here for Strudel?”

Me: “Mariusz likes evening walks, and he likes dogs, so he likes taking Strudel for a walk around the estate. Open the door and introduce yourself.”

My flatmate opens the door and is presented with an absolute hulk of a man. I should have warned him that Mariusz is 6’3″, broad, and looks like he was carved out of cliff rocks by the Baltic Sea.

Mariusz: “Ah, you are new friend I was informed of. Nice to meet you.”

Mariusz then calls into the flat, as Strudel runs to greet him out of habit and routine.

Mariusz: “[My Name], I take dog for large s*** now.”

Both dog and giant disappear down the corridor, with my flatmate staring at me, looking for an explanation.

Me: “…Oh yes, and he also has a way with words…”

I work in a place with a deeded garage parking. 

Had one sweet old lady (I’ll call her Granny) who owned a Mini Cooper. Another couple who rented a unit did not have a parking spot and took to planting their car in her spot. When Granny complained, the renters would just say they were entitled because there were so many empty parking places, so Granny could park somewhere else. WHAT THE HECK DO THEY NOT GET ABOUT DEEDED PARKING!

This continued until the day the sweet old lady decided to be not-so-sweet. She pulled her car in front of the two renters’ car and parked bumper to bumper. She put a note on their car saying:

Granny: “Parking in this space is $150 a day. Please leave a check with the concierge.”

So the two renters grifters showed up at my desk b****ing about their car being blocked off and actually expected me to tow Granny’s car off! I had to re-explain that:

Me: “Deeded parking means that I cannot tow a car from Granny’s spot, any more than I can rearrange furniture in her apartment. It’s her land; she owns it. You abandoned your car on her property; talk to her.”

So, after twenty minutes of the renters grifters b****ing:

Renters: “Call her!”

Me: “It’s very early.”

Renters: “It’s an emergency!”

I called Granny, even though it was early in the morning. She came down to the desk in her housecoat and slippers with her dog in tow. 

They begged her to move her car.

Granny: “It’ll be $150. Leave the check with the concierge.”

Renters: “You can’t do that!”

Granny: “It’ll be an extra $50 for waking me up in the morning because you claimed it was an emergency.”

Renters: “How long before you leave the garage?”

Granny: “Dearies, I’m retired. I’ll leave my spot when I’m ready. And the price just went up to $150 a day, plus $50 for waking me, and that will be in cash. Leave the envelope with the concierge. I’m walking my dog, and I’ll move my car when I have your rental fee in hand.”

Not only did the renters not park in her spot, but word got around, and I didn’t have to deal with that issue for another two years.

I lived in an apartment complex that didn’t have assigned parking. If you wanted a particular spot, you got there first. Otherwise, you parked where you could.

Well, of course, parking drama had to happen. There was a really entitled lady who lived in my building who decided to lay a claim on “her” spot. If you parked there, it started with angry messages on your windshield in red Sharpie on scratch paper, then escalated to her lurking to find out who you are and screeching at you to park elsewhere. Finally, she bought and placed a cone in “her” parking space every time she left.

Finally, someone else who lived in the building decided that he was over it. He moved the cone and parked there.

The lady lost her mind. I came out the next morning to find that this lady decided to park her car longways behind the guy and two other spaces, so multiple neighbors were being affected by this nutbag. She’s screaming and waving her arms while being shouted at by several people to move her d*** car. But she won’t move, because she’s called the cops to deal with this egregious crime of… parking in a parking lot space, I guess? Parking in (not) her ultra special sparkle and rainbow spot?

At this point, a few other neighbors and I are just vibing nearby, watching the drama.

The cops that arrived were clearly unimpressed. One takes the lady off to one side, the other takes the “criminal parker” to another spot, and they have a chat. One of the cops decides the best way to handle this is to make a phone call to the main office of the apartment complex.

I see his eyebrows shoot up, then slowly lower like thunderclouds. He confirmed that there were no assigned spots and that no one could simply claim one.

The lady’s dramatic flailing suddenly went still, and she got very quiet when the cop walked back over to her. Her face turned priceless when he wrote her a ticket for illegal use of a traffic cone in a public area.

He then ordered her to move her car and park it properly in a spot, or she was going to get another ticket for illegal parking. She opened her mouth, and the cop just cut her off and told her that he was more than happy to throw a public disturbance citation on top of it and to call a tow truck.

After all the screeching and flailing, the silence seemed deafening as she pressed her mouth into a thin line, got in her car, and moved it. The people waiting for their vehicles to be freed were more than relieved to be able to leave.

The guy who had parked in her spot to begin with was an unsung hero in that complex for a while. As for the lady? She got really quiet, and while that remained her preferred spot, she would just silently park her car elsewhere if it was taken.

I’m sure that it is entirely a coincidence that several people would claim that spot out of spite for weeks afterward.