Wish They Would Just Park That Thought

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 21, 2017

(I have recently moved into a house in a quiet neighborhood. The house was previously occupied by a friend of mine who reports that the neighbor tends to be nosy and has strange ideas about the neighborhood. I don’t see said neighbor for my first few months living there. One evening, I’m putting the trash on the curb for pickup and am shocked to see a row of trashcans and recycling bins across our driveway and lawn, and the college students who have just moved in across the street are bringing yet more out, headed for my yard.)

Me: “Whoa, what’s going on?”

Student #1: “What? Who are you?”

Me: “I live here. Why are you bringing your trash into my driveway?”

Student #1: “Uh… Isn’t this where we put it for pickup?”

Me: “No, you put it in front of your house! Is all of this yours?”

Student #2: “Uh, no, I think that’s hers…” *pointing to my neighbor’s house* “She told us this is where it goes.”

(The neighbor hasn’t ever put her bins in my lawn, so this is surprising. Moreover, she has her own driveway and lawn.)

Student #1: “Yeah, she, um… said that this is basically her yard because she’s the only one on this street who doesn’t rent her house, and that all the bins should go here.”

Me: “What?! That’s ridiculous. I can’t have everyone’s bins in my yard. Plus, this is my driveway, not hers!”

Student #2: “I know, I mean… We’re sorry. She was really rude about it and we didn’t know what to do.”

(I feel badly for the kids because they seem a little naive, so I tell them no worries and simply move the neighbor’s bins onto her lawn. Nothing else happens for months, until one Sunday morning. I am sleeping in when I hear a loud series of knocks. Remembering that my friend was supposed to come by to pick up something, I rush to the door and open it to find a strange woman.)

Neighbor: “Hi, I live next door. Do you live here?”

Me: *internally thinking, “Oh, no.”* “How can I help you?”

Neighbor: “Do you own this place? Or do you rent?”

Me: *exhausted from a long week* “What do you want?”

Neighbor: “Well, there is a car parked right next to my house.”

(My fiancée parked her car in my driveway, which runs between our houses. It’s been there for a good 24 hours at this point.)

Me: “Yes?”

Neighbor: “The car needs to move. It’s making noise.”

Me: *wondering how a parked car that’s turned off is making noise* “Okay, well—”

Neighbor: “It’s in the driveway of your house. But no one is supposed to park there.”

Me: “Uh…”

Neighbor: “People don’t know, because of all the turnover–” *she shudders* “–but I’m the one who’s lived here longest, and I don’t have a lot of space around my house. So, I need that driveway, and because I’m the only one who owns their house, people usually let me use it.”

(She regularly parks in her actual driveway.)

Me: “Mm-hmm. Well…”


(I can’t help thinking it’s interesting that she asked if I own the house if she knows the landlord; who’s actually a landlady.)

Neighbor: “So, you’re going to move the car?”

Me: *fed up* “Not right now.”

Neighbor: “What is your name?”

Me: “I’m not giving you my name.”

Neighbor: “Fine! Call right now and get the car moved. I’ll wait right here. “

Me: “You’re going to be waiting a long time.”

Neighbor: “Ugh! I’m calling the police!” *storms off*

(I shut the door and went about my day. No police ever arrived, nor did I ever figure out how my fiancée’s car was making so much noise while sitting in the driveway.)

Gossip And Wine: The Fuel Of The Soccer Mom

, , , , , | Friendly | November 20, 2017

(My partner and I both are working night shifts as we are younger with no kids, and night shifts are well-paid. As a result of a good income, we are able to move to a nicer house in a neighbourhood populated mainly by families with 9-to-5 working husbands and “soccer moms.” The nice elderly couple next door tells us those moms do nothing else but gossip, and that they have already start to spread rumors about us. One day, we hear a group of those women talking about us in the adjacent garden. It is clear that they haven’t noticed us sitting in our garden.)

Neighbour: “They moved here two months ago and I’ve never seen them awake before one pm! Never seen them going to work! And they own two cars and a motorbike! How can they afford it?”


(Silence. The elderly couple later told us nobody dares to speak a single word about us any more.)

Word To The Pennywise On Relationships

, , , , , | Friendly | November 17, 2017

(My neighbor likes to do couple-themed costumes with his boyfriend every year for Halloween. Last year they went as Batman and the Joker. Later, during the spring, they went through a rough breakup. This Halloween, I stop by his house as I always do while taking my younger sister trick-or-treating and see him passing out candy with his new boyfriend. He’s wearing the same Batman costume as last year, while his boyfriend is dressed as Bill Skarsgård’s version of Pennywise.)

Me: “So, Batman, why are you suddenly hanging out with Pennywise?”

Neighbor: *in a deep voice* “I’m trying to make the Joker jealous.”

Another Reason To Celebrate Easter

, , , , | Friendly | October 25, 2017

(I’m a woman in my 20s, and have just moved into my first apartment six months prior to this incident. It’s a Sunday afternoon, and my mom is visiting, when I decide to hang a picture. My walls are hard concrete and require special hooks, so it takes a minute or two to work the hook into the wall. Thirty seconds into the hammering, someone bangs on my door. I answer. It’s my neighbor, a man twice my age and size, red-faced and fuming, yelling and threatening to call the disturbance hotline on me and get me evicted. He’s been awful with me and with other neighbours before, so I am prepared.)

Neighbour: *screaming* “Are you stupid!? It’s Easter; the rules say—”

Me: *interrupting* Actually, the rules say…” *points to the sign where the rules are posted on the wall and quoting it* “’It is forbidden to hammer, drill, or make excessive noise on red days.’”

(Sweden has both common holidays and so-called “red days,” which are specific holiday days. Red days usually refer to Sundays and days AFTER we celebrate major holidays, but NOT the holidays themselves. This is why holiday-related rules are suppose to specify that they are in effect on “red days AND the day before red days.” Our rules, however, are only written to be in effect on red days.)

Neighbour: “Exactly! It’s Easter—”

Me: “…and according to Swedish custom, Easter is not a red day. It is a holiday. Red days are Sundays and the days after religious holidays. Today is a Saturday, and Easter Even. This rule does not apply.”

(Absolute silence falls. He looks like a deer in the headlights. I coldly stare him down as the slow realization of what has happened dawns on him. I’ve just robbed him of the only justification for his behavior.)

Neighbour: *meekly* “O-okay… Um… Are you going to be drilling a lot more?”

Me: *sickly sweet* “Oh, no. We’re almost done! Just another minute, and then we’ll be quiet for the whole rest of the weekend.”

(Looking utterly deflated, he slowly turned and wandered back into his own apartment without another word. My mother barely managed to wait until I closed the door before she fell over laughing, undoubtedly remembering when I called her on the phone crying over how this man had treated me. Perhaps I took it too far. But then again, that was two years ago, and he hasn’t dared to confront anyone since.)

Coming To A Horrible Realization

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 25, 2017

(My wife and I live in an apartment complex. Our greasy upstairs neighbor listens to his music and movies so loud we can’t hear our own TV, and talking to him about it is always met with, “Yeah, yeah, sorry! Of course!” and then him never actually turning anything down. I wake up in the middle of the night to an odd noise that takes me a moment to identify. It is a rhythmic thumping and squeaking, directly above us. I realize this must be the neighbor’s bedroom, as the apartment layouts are identical. The moment I wonder if my wife is still asleep, she speaks.)

Wife: “Um…”

Me: “Yeah. I hear it, too.”

Wife: “What… what is it?”

Me: “What do you think it is, honey?”

Wife: *wearily* “Oh, no.”

(Right then, the noise stops. Then we hear footsteps across the room towards the bathroom. Then a door shutting. Then silence. Then a flush.)


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