Quite some time ago our across the hall neighbors moved out and since then we’ve been waiting to see what kind of folks would move in. We have a great relationship with all of our neighbors, inviting each other to parties and for dinner, and we wanted to meet these new neighbors to see if this could continue. But in spite of the fact that Batty, our apartment manager (who’s closely related to a banana in terms of IQ) told us that they would be moving in over a month ago.
One night last week, we were bouncing around the hallway chatting with our next-door neighbor when the door suddenly the door across the hall flew open and an impressively tattooed man emerged with a tiny little pug. We all jumped a good two feet since we hadn’t seen nor heard anything coming and going from that apartment. We greeted him lamely and dashed in to the apartment.
Quick! There’s work to do. In flash the roommate was getting out my mixing bowls as I tied on my apron. Twenty-five minutes later we knocked on their door with fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. The new neighbor came to the door and opened it cautiously, after all it was 11 on a weeknight in a bad neighborhood. Luckily it was just his Stepford Neighbors. We chatted momentarily about this and that and then scampered back to our place feeling smug.
The next day there was a basket in front of our door containing a thank you note, potpourri, candles and some other odiferous stuff.
We’ve been out-neighbored.