The Underdog

My building is RIFE with passive aggressive notes, and frankly, as Adam and others have suggested, I’m going to start photographing them and placing them on Passive Aggressive Notes, because this shit is RIDICULOUS. At first, it was mildly amusing, but my friends, we have crossed A Line. Ladies and gentlemen, there have been five, count ‘em, FIVE notes in less than three days’ time, left at various places throughout the building, for various transgressions.

It started with dog poop. Now, I’m the first to admit that leaving dog poop in public areas is absolutely disgusting, and further, if you have a dog, you know that nothing is a more appealing snack for a poop-eater than days-old dog poop and really, there are a lot of other things I’d rather do than scrape another dog’s feces out of my dog’s chomping maw. Plus, not to pull out my inner environmentalist, but leaving dog poop on the ground is a leading cause of groundwater pollution. I know. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

So while I appreciated the first note that gently suggested that we should all be better about cleaning up after our dogs, I did not appreciate the obvious assumption by some that it was me, as I’m the newest resident with a dog, and apparently they haven’t had any problems before. Every SINGLE time I’m out with Sunny, I catch a neighbor watching me, waiting to see if I’ll pull the bag out of my pocket, WHICH I ALWAYS DO OH MY GOD. I ALWAYS HAVE A BAG STOP LOOKING AT ME.

I have lived in condo associations before, and let me tell you, it only takes ONE STRAY POOP for a bunch of groupthinkers to think it’s okay to leave it. ONE. So dear neighbors: kindly fuck off, as it’s not me. Maybe you should consider whether it’s the same people who let their dogs PEE on the FRONT LIGHTS, tingeing them YELLOW, like an icky Batman symbol of public urination. Oh and P.S., those people are obviously those with boy dogs, which I do not have. Girl dogs don’t lift their legs. Thanks much.

But! It doesn’t stop there! Next up: the rogue parker! A car in our garage had a note on the windshield that read, shit you not:

Dear Corolla Owner:

I see you are enjoying our extra parking space! Lucky for you, as we don’t need it until we move here full-time this summer, but that doesn’t mean it’s free. If you’d like to rent it at a monthly fee, call us at XXX-XXXX, otherwise, move your car now.

- Your neighbors in unit XXX

And YET. IT DOES NOT END THERE! There is the SECOND dog poop note, saying that we can’t let our dogs poop on the front lawn, and that they voted on this TWO APRILS AGO and that we should all research the minutes for details! (Oh yes, please, because I totally have ALL THE MINUTES ON FILE.) And that she’ll clean it up THIS TIME, but only because she almost stepped in it! And better? SHE LEFT THE BAG OF POOP ON THE FRONT STEPS TO PUNCTUATE THE NOTE. Thank you very, very much, old lady, for cleaning up the poop, but it really doesn’t count if you just LEAVE IT THERE.

There was also a less exciting one about the hallway heat, and another about the new mats in the front hallway and making sure we WIPE OUR FEET from all the SALT to keep the FLOORS CLEAN because SOME PEOPLE DON’T OH JESUS, but the real piece de resistance was the package note, left on a delivery from the Land of Nod to the neighbors upstairs. Yes, yes, it had been there for a few days, but it was HEAVY and her HUSBAND WAS OUT OF TOWN and it wasn’t HURTING ANYONE MY GOD. However, the resident note-leaver could not let it lie there, and left a neon green note on it announcing:

This has been here for a while. Any idea who it belongs to?

Um, are you serious? ARE YOU SERIOUS? IT BELONGS TO THE PERSON WHOSE NAME AND ADDRESS IS ON THE FRONT OF THE BOX NEXT TO YOUR NOTE. IT SAYS MOLLY XX, UNIT 405. PERHAPS YOU COULD POLITELY GO UPSTAIRS AND SEE IF MOLLY NEEDS ANY HELP INSTEAD OF BEING A DOUCHEBAG. BECAUSE IT IS A VERY HEAVY PACKAGE AND SHE’S PROBABLY ALONE WITH AN INFANT.

(This, by the way, was my plan, but by the time I went up there, the package was gone. Poor Molly had probably been shamed into strapping it to her back with bungee cords, like a wee beast of burden.)

I’m going to start photographing them, so help me lord. And then I’m totally leaving a passive aggressive note saying that I’m posting them all on Passive Aggressive Notes, because I cannot be alone in my frustration about the never-ending stream of NOTES and what better way to demonstrate, in the most ironically passive aggressive way possible, that NOTES ARE RIDICULOUS. (Um, is that okay, neighbors who read this? Ha ha?)

Well. Thank you for letting me vent. Hopefully you’re off tomorrow for President’s Day, but if not, I’m very sorry. I’ll be here with my loose joints and freakishly pushy baby trying to break her way out the front instead of the regular way, in addition to fighting off the FIFTH COLD OF PREGNANCY, O HELP ME GOD.

I’m thinking about leaving a note asking my neighbors to wash their damn hands and stop leaving germs where other people can innocently pick them up. Oh, and could they please wipe down the mailboxes after they check their mail? KTHANX.

P.S. I have never felt so grossly pregnant as when I can hear stomach gurgly noises fully underneath my boob, because that’s where my stomach has been pushed to. It’s ALL THE WAY UNDER MY LEFT BOOB. Next to my heart. My God.

Happy Monday!

*Spoon

39 comments February 15th, 2009