I live in one of those small housing communities where everyone knows everyone else's business and if you don't take out your garbage people look at you dirty and you receive a general letter from the association telling you "waste-management-comes-twice-a-week-on-Tuesdays-and-Fridays-thank-you-very-much."
Sadly for me, three of the association board members live in my community and are the eyes and ears of all "questionable" behavior that takes place. Almost as depressing, I don't have loud crazy parties where people hang off my chandeliers or anything erratic on a constant basis. In fact, one of the best parts of living on my own is peace and quiet, which I cherish deeply. My neighbors are a mess, and although sometimes I feel like pulling their weave off and burning it in a small bonfire, I try to be friendly and even take out their garbage because they never do.
One evening, I was approached by the head of the association board with some "complaints" from the those who shall not be named (supposedly).
Man: Are these your dogs?
Man: We've had several complaints.
Man: Poopoo on the lawn. (poopoo is his word, not mine)
Me: Impossible. I always pick up the "poopoo." (waves plastic bag in his face for emphasis)
Man: Well, just wanted you to know that there's a designated area for dog walking going forward. (points at a small patch of grass in the middle of the parking lot)
Me: No problem.
Days later, I walked my dogs in the designated area but they refused to do their business there. On the way back home, Bruno chose a cozy spot on neighbor's lawn and let the brown sugar rip. At this precise moment, the jerk man with bad breath and one lazy eye approaches me and I wonder if he was hiding in the woods, waiting for this precise moment to pounce.
Man: Excuse me...
Me: May I help you? (with more than a hint of attitude)
Man: Your dog cannot poopoo there.
Me: Yes... You've said that before.
Man: So then why is he doing it?
Me: Because he's a dog. This is what dogs do.
Man: Well you need to make sure it doesn't happen again.
Me: (shakes plastic bag violently). I'm picking it up, sheesh!
Man: The poopoo cannot go there.
Me: The poopoo will go where my dog decides. Then it will be picked up by me, his owner. (scoops up poop and walks away)
That night, I complained to my friend Ryan about the recent incident and he had a brilliant idea.
"No way!" I gasped.
"Relax, idiot..." He replied. "I'll do it tomorrow super early before work. Your house is on the way."
We waited two weeks... And then:
This is war, guys.