Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood?

Greg met the building manager, Debbie, shortly after we moved into our condo. She immediately warned him about our upstairs neighors: They're renters, not owners, see, and they use too much water and have too many people over sometimes and they're Brazilians! If we had any problems with them, we should call her imemdiately. We were a little mystified about why any of this--especially Brazilianism--should be a problem and a little put off by the apparent pettiness. But hey, we just moved in and didn't know what was going on.

Soon thereafter we met John, a friendly neighbor who lives next to the Brazilians upstairs. "They causing any problems?" he asked. They weren't and we said so. "I'm on the condo board--just let me know if there are any problems and we'll take care of it."

Shortly thereafter The Brazilians began stomping around a lot. At night. Right over my head. I tried to knock on the door to request Less Stomping--rehearsing frantically in Portuguese--but they never answered. This went on for a while. Finally we called the building manager to explain the stomping problem. It didn't stop. At last, I wrote a polite note in Portuguese (posted here previously) and affixed it to their door. Their spokesman, Ronaldo, knocked on our door the next day, we discussed the walking problem (in English) and it hasn't been a problem since. Ronaldo was perfectly nice and polite.

Meanwhile, it became clear that someone in our condo complex had both a color printer and too much time. Signs appeared everywhere reminding everyone Only Two Cars Allowed Per Unit and Violators Would Be Towed--an idle threat, as there is no numbering or tag system. The sign population grew rapidly until there were mere feet between posters. Clearly the sign overpopulation would lead to a shortage of sign habitat and food, so Greg began taking one down per day. The signs magically developed a warning Not To Remove them. Undaunted, Greg continued his stealth war against the tacky signs. (I wanted to put up a "No More Than Two Signs Per Unit" sign, but why make enemies.)

Greg works from home, which puts him in a good vantage point to see the daily condo complex happenings. During the sign debacle, Greg spotted an old retired man, resplendent in hearing aids, actually counting the cars in the parking lot. We surmised he was the sign violator.

I ran into John a few more times. He persisted in asking about The Brazilians: "I hear you were having a noise problem with them." I replied that it was completely resolved, thanks for asking, and they were the very embodiment of respect and neighborliness (but not in such a snarky manner).

A couple of weeks ago I took Noah (the big cat) outside for his semi-regular romp through the sunny yard. Standing between Noah and the road, leaning against the bicycle shed, I noticed that Noah suddenly startled. I stepped forward and looked around the shed in the direction he was staring, saucer-eyed. An old man approached. "Is that your cat?!" I affirmed that Noah was mine (in so much as a feline can ever be anyone's, of course) and explained that I take him outside to enjoy the fresh air once in a while. The man replied, "I saw that cat headed for that grill there"--he pointed to a hibachi squatting on the pavement--"And I thought, that cat's gonna steal someone's dinner!" This was all most ridiculous, as Noah had demonstrated no interest whatsoever in the grill, which had no food on it, and anyway Noah is not nimble enough to steal anyone's dinner, being rather portly and slow. But I politely made small talk with this nosy man. When I indicated which unit I occupied, he, naturally, asked whether Those Brazilians were causing problems. When I relayed this story to Greg inside, we realized that the Cat Police was also the Car Counter.

We don't like this busybody culture here, but we figured we'd just lie low and ride it out. I came home to a blinking answering machine yesterday. It was Debbie. "We've had a couple calls complaining about your"--A Large Panic Attack was nigh, as I leapt to the conclusion that someone had tattled on our second cat, the sweet Luna Kitten--"grill on the balcony. Grills are not allowed. You must remove it immediately."

Relieved but resentful, I removed the grill. But now...we're on the wrong side of The Law. I fear what will be said if someone new moves in below us.