They just don’t.
A theme of my life this year has been the snootiness of my neighbors who (correctly) assume that I rent-not-own a unit in their beautiful condo building and (incorrectly) assume that I am ruining their property values, their serenity, and their lives. This is frustrating given that
- I take great care of my place and
- being a law student and therefore (a) broke/not wanting to lose my security deposit and (b) needing to be a dork and study much of the time, I almost never have parties. And when I do they’re study groups or small gatherings of friends for dinner with minimal noise and ending by 10:00.
But anyway.
My neighbors don’t like me and they demonstrate this with ugly looks and snide comments every time we pass in the hall. The other renters feel it too. Even Boyf, who always gives people the benefit of the doubt, notices it.
One of their best moves is acting super skeptical when I come in the front door after them, like maybe they should slam it in my face and make me open it with my key just to ensure that I’m not some neighborhood hoodlum trying to steal their beautiful tapestries and ornate antiques and whatever it is they’re so concerned I will card my way into their homes for. And I endure it with a smile and try to nice them into liking me, feeling ridiculous for not liking me, or both. (Yes, nice is a verb, I promise.)
But tonight, as I jaunted home from the HTeet, two reusable grocery bags full in hands, and the guy ahead of me clearly considered shutting the door in my face, I wanted to be like, “Dude, people don’t rob condos bearing groceries. Give it a rest and hold the door for me.”
