The Perils of Living Among People

I live in a condo building that has a very diverse population. Black and white and Asian, married and single and shacking up, young children and teenagers, young adults and retirees. For the most part, I like being surrounded by a variety of people.

Except three of the retirees are wearing me out.

Walt lives at the end of my hall and derives entertainment from keeping an eye on me. This morning he knocked on my door, interrupting me as I got ready for work to complain about the car that is parked in my spot. It's red and beat up and looks "hot" to him. I told him I was renting to Brian on the third floor, that Brian paid cash in advance, and consequently Brian is aces with me. Still, Walt had to "get to the bottom of this." I got home this afternoon to find a note from Walt, explaining that Mr. Bryant on the third floor knows nothing about the red beater in my spot. Um ... that's because I said BRIAN, not Mr. BRYANT! And I checked out the car. Despite what Walt says, it's not like the one shown here. It's been in an accident, clearly, with a bashed in driver's side front and backseat doors. But it's not that bad! Yet I know this is going to turn into a "thing," because Walt has too much time on his hands.

Porch Potato: The man who wears Bermuda shorts no matter how cold it is outside used to steal my newspaper every damn morning. More than once I walked past him sitting on the porch, reading the paper with my name and apartment number scrawled across the front page. The only thing that got him to stop is the installation of security cameras!

Mr. B. is a sweet, benign old gentleman who tries to sell me Avon every time I see him. Sometimes he delivers orders, often he doesn't. Sometimes the orders are complete, often they aren't. I have taken to ducking when I catch sight of him.

They're sweet guys (OK, Porch Potato is a complete asshole) but so annoying! Maybe I would have been better suited by a nice little coach house in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors.