Wait Until She Hears Cardi B’s Newest Little Ditty

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 23, 2020

I’m a singer, “pro” by formation but it’s not my career, nor how I win my life. I’m also the owner of a duplex, occupying the first apartment and renting the second. Insonorization is pretty good, but it is a nice warm day and everyone has opened the windows. Also, because of the recent health crisis, my tenant lost her job, and school was canceled for her eight-year-old son, which causes them to be home when I don’t expect them to be.

As I often do, I start a playlist to sing for an hour or two for practice and fun. About thirty minutes in, there’s a knock on my door. It’s my tenant, looking rather angry.

She explains to me that her son heard me sing, and now he’s “asking questions.”

She states that and crosses her arms, looking at me with bulging eyes.

I don’t understand and ask what’s the problem, thinking that maybe I was too loud or that she had some hate against singing in general.

Tenant: “I don’t care if you sing, but what you sing! How dare you be howling obscenities like that in front of children?!”

Now it clicks: while I do opera and classical, I also do popular music. Some songs are in the “sexy” range, but it’s all stuff you could hear from any radio station without censorship.

Me: “Well, there are no children here in my apartment. So much for ‘in front of children.’ Second, it’s the first time I was made aware I was heard from your apartment and I have been renting for fifteen years at this point. Also, I sing what I want; I could drop F-bombs and you would still get no say with that choice. I guess you’re lucky that I elected not to. Otherwise, the lyrics are rather clean in themselves, and out of context it doesn’t mean much.”

Tenant: “But now my son is asking questions! What are you going to do about it?”

Me: “Me? Nothing, he’s all yours to educate.”

Tenant: “It’s all your fault! You deal with it!”

I think it’s pretty funny and I can’t help but smirk.

Me: “So, you want me, the landlady who’s ‘howling obscenities’ to teach your son about the birds and the bees, then answer and explain, in detail, all about what he just heard in the songs? Really?”

I think she changed her mind because she turned around and left without a word.

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You’re Not Being The Neighbor Mister Rogers Wants You To Be

, , , , , | Right | September 21, 2020

When I am twenty-one or so, I am still living with my parents. Then, I find an apartment. My boyfriend and his friends agree to move some of my stuff from my parents’ house over to my new place, including my computer and a small TV. They do so during the day while my parents are at work. My parents are fully aware of this; in fact, they loan my boyfriend a house key.

When my folks get home, their neighbour comes over, extremely excited.

Neighbour: “You were robbed today!”

Mum: “What?!”

Neighbour: “I saw the whole thing! Several young men broke into your place and took a bunch of valuables, including a computer and a TV! I saw them carry everything out to their cars and drive away.”

Mum: *Catching on* “Oh, my. That’s bad. Did you call the police?”

Neighbour: “Um, no.”

Mum: “Did you get their license plates?”

Neighbour: “No.”

Mum: “How about their cars? Did you notice what kind they drive?”

Neighbour: “No.”

Mum: “Do you think you could describe the men?”

Neighbour: “They were young… That’s all I remember.”

Mum: *Laughing* “I’m sorry, I can’t keep doing this. It’s okay. Those guys were [My Name]’s boyfriend and friends, and they’re just helping her move some of her things to her new apartment.”

Neighbour: “You were just messing with me? That’s not nice!”

Mum:You’re the one who watched our house apparently being robbed and didn’t do anything about it!”

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I’m Not Your Bro And My Dog Isn’t, Either

, , , , , | Friendly | September 2, 2020

I live in a large apartment complex and a lot of people like to mess with my dog, but this one entitled dude takes the cake.

Entitled Dude: “Hey, that’s a nice dog. What breed?”

Me: “Thanks. He’s a pit mix.”

Entitled Dude: “How old is he?”

Me: “Almost five.”

I continue walking.

Entitled Dude: “How much do you want for him?”

Me: “What? He’s not for sale. He’s my ESA.”

Entitled Dude: “What’s an ESA? And name your price.”

Me: “Emotional support animal, and no. He’s not for sale.”

Entitled Dude: “You don’t need a dog for emotional support; he’s a pit bull, anyway. That’s a fighting dog. Let me buy him; I can make lots off of him.”

Me: “Dude. He’s not for sale. Just leave us alone.”

Entitled Dude: “Come on, man. Everyone has a price; name it.”

Me: “This is the last time I’m saying this. He. Is. Not. For. Sale. Bye.”

This dude proceeds to follow me on the rest of our walk back to my apartment building. I get nervous because I notice he’s walking behind me.

Me: “Dude, stop following me. You got a problem?”

Entitled Dude: “Nah, bro. I just want your dog, bro. Come on, bro!”

Me: “I’m not your bro, and no. Seriously, f*** off. You’re not having my dog. Come near me or my dog again and you’re gonna end up in the hospital.”

He leaves.

Four hours later, I am walking my dog again and a police officer comes up to talk to me and asks if I am who I am. I say yes, and he says he was called because I threatened to stab someone. I tell him the situation, tell him who the guy was, and show him a video of the guy following me. He just apologizes for the situation and goes to find the guy. So, yeah. People suck.

A week goes by and my wife is walking my dog because I am in the shower. I get out to five missed calls and thirty text messages. This guy tried to STEAL MY DOG from my wife. He talked to her for a minute and then tried grabbing my dog by the harness and taking off, but my dog slipped out of his hand and a neighbor stopped him from hurting my wife or dog.

He tried hitting my VERY pregnant wife before the neighbor tackled him. They called the police and he got arrested for stalking, assault, and attempted kidnapping. In my state, ESAs are considered people and are taken very seriously. The nerve on this guy.

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When You Really Care For Your Pets, They’re Priceless

, , , , , , | Friendly | August 27, 2020

I find a puppy in my yard and immediately start looking for the owner. My neighbour sees me carrying the pup.

Neighbour #1: “Oh, have you got a new puppy?”

Me: “No, I just found it in my yard; I’m looking for the owner.”

Neighbour #1: “Oh, I think it’s the same sort that the new neighbour at [street number] has. Maybe you should check with him.”

I take the pup a few houses up the street and knock on the door.

Neighbour #2: “Why do you have my pup? You can’t just come in here and take it!”

He snatches the pup roughly off me.  

Me: “I just found it in my yard; I was looking for the owner.”

Neighbour #2: “Well, I own it. That dog’s worth over a thousand dollars. I’m going to be breeding it with my dog and the pups will be worth thousands.”

I can sense that he’s implying that I was stealing the dog, but why would I carry it to his door if I had stolen it?  

Me: “Well, if you are that worried about the money, maybe you should make sure it can’t get out.” 

I mentally decided that I would not be returning the puppy the next time and would find it a home that cared for their pets instead of how much money the pets would bring in. I was not expecting any sort of reward; just a thank-you would have done. I have never spoken to that neighbour again.

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Junk Mail Is Inevitable, Even If You Die

, , , , , , , | Working | August 21, 2020

I was living in the same building as my landlady. Her husband passed away while I was living there, and five years later, a certain organization is still sending him mail every four months offering a large discount — in bold letters on the envelope — when he renews his subscription. I try to intercept these as much as possible, which isn’t too bad because my landlady has become an invalid and most nurses and assistants coming in to tend to her don’t recognize the name and leave it in the hallway.  

As she is put to bed fairly early and is unable to get up, I’ve made a habit of checking in with her in the evening before going to bed to see if she needs anything. If she happens to receive a letter addressed to her deceased husband, I’m sure to hear her life story and how unhappy it was all over again, so intercepting the mail isn’t totally selfless. 

Each time I intercept the letter, I return it, marked “deceased”. After five years, I have had enough of it and, frustrated, I cross out the address and write, “Moved – new address – [Famous Local Cemetery] – plot to be asked for”.

The letters have finally stopped.

I sometimes wonder if they finally got the message or if the cemetery is receiving junk mail now.

This story is part of our Best Of August 2020 roundup!

Read the next Best Of August 2020 story!

Read the Best Of August 2020 roundup!

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