The Case of the Nosy Neighbor
Because minding your own business costs zero dollars
It’s time for another mental health check-in. Last time we talked, I was encouraging everyone to commit to something for 30 straight days. So how did you do?
Well, if we’re being honest, my shit got fucked up about three days in. See, what had happened was…I had it all planned out. Got a new notebook and scheduled all my posts out by day. It was perfect. Then I worked last minute. Then I worked, worked, worked. Then I launched the new clothing line. Then I had to do photographs. And that’s a pretty linear line of how I didn’t do exactly what I said I was going to.
But…
And this is a big but, I still was productive. I still got shit done. I still made progress even if it wasn’t the progress I planned to make, and that was the point of the entire exercise. So if you at least made an effort and took a step forward, good for you. If you didn’t, well, you’re still a shit bag. Do better.
All this forward and side stepping really has been kicking my ass lately. I’m so tired and so stressed, I’ve completely stopped taking care of myself, and I know it shows. A little Restylane and Botox can only do so much when you live on caffeine, don’t drink water, and never sleep.
So this morning I took Cutie on her first of ten daily potty breaks. We do this the moment we wake up so I generally grab whatever clothes are nearest and go. Usually this entails a bathrobe and slides, but I happened to just do laundry so I grabbed a *clean set of shorts and a tee and popped downstairs. One of the only perks of living in this incredibly overpriced building is the coffee bar downstairs. But they’ve recently stopped carrying creamer in the fridge, subbing it for the free room temp singles you see at the gas station, and switched the Davinci syrup for some Home Goods off brand shit. Anyway, the coffee is free so we went to grab some before heading back up.
There I am, in obvious pajamas, with a freshly groomed dog, minding my own fucking business at the coffee bar when some little Latino tart walks in with pressed shorts and a super tight bun. I chose the avoidant method and just act like I don’t know my neighbors exist, and this usually works for me. But this morning I guess the dog hair on my shirt and unkempt hair was just too much for her to bear.
“Do you live in this building?” I hear echoed from behind me. No excuse me. No warm-up greeting. Just raw dogging the peaceful silence with her annoying voice.
I turned and made eye contact, a second passing while I tried to translate what she was really saying, which was Bitch, you don’t look like you can afford to live here. Her finger was still in the air, caught in the question, and her entitled chin pointed to the sky like the world belonged to her. I held the pregnant pause for a long moment with my deadpan face and lifeless eyes, quietly summoning the soul from her body before I ruined her fucking day.
“Yes.”
That should have been the end of the conversation. I turned back to my Starbucks vanilla roast blonde when I was again pelted with accusatory questioning.
“Oh, I think I saw your little dog out here, not long ago, running around,” still smug as ever. She meant off leash. She meant running the streets. She meant to say Bitch, you don’t even watch your own fucking dog let alone brush your hair.
Now I know a simple no would have sufficed but I guessed that would have led to another inane question, thus leading to the eventual confrontation that we were going to come to anyway. Instead, I decided to just skip through all those steps and get straight to it.
“No, the fuck, you didn’t.”
“Oh, no?” Oh, yes, I did.
“No, you didn’t see my dog anywhere. There are plenty of little white dogs in the building. And maybe, next time you see a stranger and want to say something, you should just shut the fuck up.”
I pumped two long drawls of Davinci syrup into my mug before the last of it disappears from our common area forever and walked out. There was nothing left to say. In fact, I don’t know where we were going with this line of questioning in the first place. What I do know, though, is that it costs zero dollars to shut the fuck up and mind your own business. Now I went and ruined her day when all I set out to do was make a vanilla latte.
Nosy ass tenants and cheap coffee syrup? Ghetto.