It’s Going To Be A Long (Fort)Nite

, , , , , | Friendly | September 25, 2018

(I am a freshman in college. Let it be known, I am loving life on campus; my classes are intellectually stimulating, and there are plenty of coffee shops to fuel my growing addiction. The only issue I have — as is to be expected — is my neighbors in the dorms. We’ve been on campus for about a month and a half now, and every other day or so our neighbors end up staying up until two or three in the morning playing “Fortnite.” We’ve asked them to keep it down three or four times by now, but it seems to be a bit of a lost cause. Today, I had a conversation with them that went something like this:)

Me: *knocks on door*

Neighbor #1: “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

Me: “Would you guys be willing to turn your video games down? We’re trying to study, sleep, and not have to listen to you screaming at a video game at three am.”

Neighbor #2: “Oh, sure. We’ll try to keep it down. We just get so into it.”

Me: “I understand. I’m an avid online gamer, too. I play Star Wars online… which means I also understand that you should keep your game volume at a reasonable level, and not curse at a screen at three in the morning, as evidenced by the way you don’t hear ‘pew pew’ noises coming from our room. Thanks.”

(This was all said very calmly. I am a very polite person, so the fact that I said this at all goes to show how fed up I am. I’m hoping for results, but I’m not holding my breath.)

You Can’t Snow In Kind Gestures

, , , , , | Hopeless | September 15, 2018

(When I am in high school, my mom and I live in an apartment complex for probably two years. One year we have a decent snow storm; it isn’t bad, but it leaves about three feet of snow around the car. Our shovel has broken, and since winter is almost over and we have little money, we had decided to take our chances and not buy a shovel. So, at ten am after the storm, I wake up and go out with the balcony broom — a broom we keep outside to sweep leaves and such off our little balcony — and try to unbury the car. I work for a good hour, and get about half the front cleared away, when a plow comes in to get what is left over. I don’t know if he doesn’t notice the high schooler with a broom trying to move the snow, doesn’t care, or doesn’t have any room not to, but he literally plows an entire parking lot of snow in front of the car and partially onto the hood. I stand and stare at the pile, defeated, and watch the plow drive off. I sigh and start trying to move the snow again, this time pushing it and literally digging with my hands, when a guy a few cars down notices.)

Guy: “Did that plow just push all that snow in front of your car?”

Me: “Yeah… unfortunately for me.”

Guy: “And you’re sweeping it?”

Me: “I don’t have a shovel; this was the only thing I thought might work.”

Guy: “How long have you been out here?”

Me: “Probably an hour; I started around ten.”

(He watches me sweep a little, and then runs to his car. I don’t pay attention to what he is doing, but a moment later I notice a shovel moving some snow.)

Guy: “I only have one shovel, but I’ll do what I can real quick; I’m a little early for work.”

(It’s been probably six years since this happened, but I still remember it. If you ever read this, thank you. I really appreciated the help, and I don’t know if you ever knew how much the little act meant to me. I hope you weren’t late, since you stayed and helped dig out most the car. I know I probably looked ridiculous and pathetic sweeping snow, but at least we both got a good story.)

That Smaller Parcel Must Have Been His Brain

, , , , , | Friendly | July 26, 2018

(My neighbor is in his mid-forties and is a child of a trust fund, so he’s always had people available at his whim, has never worked, and is a total moron. During the day he has two nannies taking care of his kids while his wife works. I miss a package delivery while I am at work, so the delivery company leaves a ticket stating that the package is with my neighbor. I head over, ticket in hand, to collect it.)

Neighbor: *answering door* “Yeah?”

Me: “Hi, I wasn’t in to get a parcel; they left it at yours. Can I get it?” *shows ticket*

Neighbor: *immediately confused* “Uh, sorry, no. The nanny deals with stuff like that. Come back when she’s back.”

Me: “I kind of need it; did the post not deliver my parcel here?”

Neighbor: “Why did they deliver your parcel here?”

Me: “I wasn’t in.”

Neighbor: “Why not?”

Me: *too shocked by his stupidity* “Look. My parcel was dropped off here; can you please check?”

(He looks around his feet and picks up the nearest parcel, hands it to me without a word, and shuts the door. The parcel is way too small to be what I am expecting. I check the address slip and it has the neighbor’s address and his wife’s name on it. I ring the bell again several times until he eventually answers again.)

Neighbor: “What now?”

Me: “There’s been some confusion; this is your wife’s parcel.”

Neighbor: “Well, what do you want with it, then?”

Me: “I don’t want it. I want mine. Can you please look?”

Neighbor: *taking the parcel back and looking around his feet* “Nothing here. Look: can you please come back when the nanny is here? She deals with all the stuff like this.”

Me: “Well, can you check the front room or something for a box with this address on it?” *I hand him the ticket* “Please?!”

(He disappears for a few seconds and comes back with a very large box and an equally confused expression on his face.)

Neighbor: “Huh. There’s this, but… it’s got the wrong address on it.”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I’m after.”

Neighbor: “Why was it delivered here? I’m not [bad pronunciation of My Name].”

Me: “That’s me! It’s what I’m here for.”

Neighbor: “How did you know it was here?”

Me: “Because the delivery company left a ticket. Can I please have it now?”

Neighbor: *handing it over* “But why didn’t they just deliver it to you?”

(I took the parcel and just rolled my eyes at the last question. I didn’t think leaving post with neighbors was that difficult a concept.)

That Is Not A Happy Bunny

, , , , | Friendly | July 19, 2018

(I have pet rabbits. My neighbor asks me if his seven-year-old daughter can see them. I accept.)

Me: “Here they are.”

Daughter: “Bunnies! Can I hold one?”

Neighbor: “Of course, sweetheart.”

Me: “I have to advise against it. They might get spooked and start shrieking if picked up by an unfamiliar person. Maybe after they get used to you.”

Neighbor: “That’s just silly. It’s not like we’re wolves ready to eat them.”

Daughter: “I brought them carrots. Can I feed them?”

Me: “Sorry to break it to you, honey, but more than a teaspoon and they might get sick.”

Daughter: “But Bugs eats carrots.”

Me: “Bugs is a cartoon, and cartoons can do many things real animals cannot.”

Daughter: “Oh, that makes sense I guess. What do they eat?”

Me: “Mostly hay, grass, and leafy greens.”

Daughter: “Bunnies are weird, but cute… Can I use the restroom, please?”

(After we get back from the restroom, I see my neighbor has picked up a bunny which, as I expected, starts shrieking. I take the poor thing out of his hands and gently put him back.)

Neighbor: “What the h*** was that?!”

Me: “Congratulations! Your first scared rabbit. I did ask you not to pick them up.”

Daughter: *with a mouthful of cookies* “Daddy should practice what he preaches.”

(He asked me a few days later if he could have any baby bunnies. All of my rabbits are neutered and spayed, but even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t give him one.)

A Parking Spot Of Bother

, , , , , | Friendly | July 18, 2018

(This story takes place barely a month after my husband and I returned from our honeymoon and began living together for the first time. My husband is preparing to lead a soccer tour to an African country, taking along a couple dozen students. Understandably, it has been a busy time, and he is dealing with the final preparations. On Friday, the evening before he is set to leave, he gets home from work and decides he wants to park his car in the stall we get at our condo complex, instead of leaving his car on the street for two weeks. Unfortunately, there is someone parked in our stall, and my husband says he’s noticed the same vehicle there before. Slightly stressed with everything that is going on, my husband panics, and sees a sign in the parking lot with a number to call if there are any problems. He calls, and a tow truck comes and tows the car away. Soon after, we get a knock on our door.)

Dude: “Hey, did you get my car towed?”

Husband: “Yeah, you were parked in our stall. Sorry about that.”

Dude: “That was a jerk move. You could have just left a note on my windshield!”

Husband: “I’m sorry about that. I just have a lot going on right now, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m really sorry.”

(Our neighbour gives him a few more choice words after that, says something about living next door to a condo board member and them saying it was okay to park in our spot, and storms off. My husband and I leave the condo for an hour or two afterwards, and as soon as we return, there is another knock on the door.)

Dude: “Hey, it’s going to cost $450 to get my car back.”

Husband: “I’m really sorry.”

(They went back and forth a few more times, the guy getting progressively angrier. The conversation finished with the guy threatening to take us to small claims court. Yeah. Small court claims because he was parking in OUR parking spot — aka stealing. I ended up calling the condo management company and speaking to one of the administrative ladies to explain the situation, just in case he called. As I was finishing my story, I’m pretty sure I could hear her softly chuckling. She ended up calling me a few days later and said she spoke with the person in question, that he was in the wrong, and that the situation was resolved. My husband definitely regrets calling the number, as leaving a note would have been nicer, but at the same time, the guy didn’t have any leg to stand on. He didn’t park in our spot again and my husband saw him only once more after that. It was late at night, around the parking lot, and my husband thinks he was drunk. He said something along the lines of, “That spot good enough for you?”)

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