I’ve always believed in being a good neighbor—friendly, respectful, and fair. That’s why when my next-door neighbor, Lisa, asked if she could use my barbecue for a small get-together, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. She’d always been pleasant, and I figured it was a small favor. I even let her borrow my grill tools.
The next morning, I stepped outside to grab my newspaper and immediately noticed the mess. Greasy plates, empty bottles, and food scraps were still scattered around my backyard. The grill itself was coated in grease, and my patio table was littered with crumbs and sauce stains.
I wasn’t angry—just annoyed. I texted Lisa a friendly message:
“Hey, I saw the barbecue was left kind of messy. Would you mind coming by to clean it up?”
Her response was a simple “Sure, I’ll handle it.”
I assumed that was the end of it, but the next day, I woke up to a surprise.
Taped to my front door was a laminated sheet of paper titled “Rules for Shared Neighborhood Spaces.” At first, I thought it was from the homeowners’ association—until I noticed Lisa’s name at the bottom.
The list included ridiculous demands like:
- No outdoor gatherings past 8 PM (even though she just had one).
- No grilling unless pre-approved by “affected neighbors” (meaning her).
- No “unapproved” lawn decorations.
- All noise levels must be kept under a “reasonable” decibel (whatever that means).
And the kicker? A note at the bottom:
“As a respectful community member, I expect you to follow these guidelines, as I will be enforcing them.”
I was stunned. She had used my grill, left her mess, and now wanted to dictate my property rules?
I calmly walked over to Lisa’s house and knocked. She answered with a smug smile, clearly expecting me to agree. Instead, I handed her the laminated list and said, “I didn’t realize you were the neighborhood authority. But if you’re setting rules, here’s mine: You’re no longer welcome to use my things.”
She blinked, looking surprised. “I was just trying to create a more harmonious community.”
I smirked. “Funny, that’s exactly what I was trying to do when I let you borrow my grill. Next time, clean up your mess before telling others how to live.”
With that, I walked away, leaving Lisa standing there, speechless.
Needless to say, she hasn’t asked to use my barbecue again.
