My Neighbor Kept Leaving Her Trash by My Door – Until Karma Did What I Couldn’t
When I moved into a new apartment to cope after my husband and I lost everything, I was sure I could enjoy peace, but what I got instead was the worst neighbor ever! She didn’t move her trash inside and karma made sure by giving her a serious talk!
After my husband passed away, things didn’t just seem boring; everything that defined me was taken away. My new neighbor’s behavior and actions only made my grief worse which became too much for me to accept.
For himself, my husband received every imaginable treatment as my husband and I put in all of our efforts for months on end and these efforts took a toll on me. Ultimately, we lost much more than just someone, since our entire life was taken from us.
Like clockwork, the bills for the hospital visit hit and I had no other choice than to sell our three-bedroom house, the same one we once joked was likely to give out under all our children.
Crying happened as I was packing up our lives and I really sobbed as the young couple came to pick up the keys. Since I had nowhere to live, I took up residence in my late grandmother’s old second-floor unit which was always filled with the smells of cabbage and desperation.
At least, there was no rent charge and the place was full of wonderful memories. Every chilly morning, the floor creaked more than my bones and because the walls were paper-thin,
I could literally hear my neighbor’s alarm clock buzz every single day at 5:30. Still, I had somewhere to live and I held onto it as if it were a life raft. To myself, it was only a short-term condition until I got back on my feet.
Grief has a strange effect; it doesn’t only cause sadness—it actually leaves you feeling checky and unprotected. Emotions are more powerful than usual.
Tiny problems might seem like huge disasters. When Connie settled down next door with her set of monogrammed bags and loud heels, I made sure her carelessness didn’t ruin my mood.
My friend was the exact opposite: cheerful, bold and always cleaned-up, fit to be a model in an Instagram ad. When I first passed her in the hallway, she gave me a quick smile and carried on her conversation on Bluetooth about instructors and salad dishes using quinoa.
Perhaps I would not have bothered with her if it were not for the trash.
At first, I discovered this strange neighbor’s actions when a single, tied up grocery bag was put directly in front of my door. In the beginning, I doubted that she had placed it on the floor, but the smell of takeout and the grease mark on the carpet were definite signs.
I sighed, held it with two fingers and moved it down to the trash chute on the end of the hall.
The very next morning, there was another bag and half-empty coffee was spilling cold and bitter liquid all over my grandmother’s welcome mat! I wrinkled up my nose, tossed out the shoe and sanitized the mat by rinsing it in extremely hot and soapy water.
Once the second set of overly full trash bags with a horrible smell arrived by the fifth morning, I caught on that this was happening regularly!
The space in front of my door was turned into a garbage station by Connie, whose apartment was next to mine.
Therefore, I gained strength and waited for her to open her door, then took her by surprise in the hallway while she was misting herself with the strong scent of her perfume.
Hey, Connie, I tried to keep my voice as normal as possible. I seem to find your trash standing outside my door yet again.
Turning to me, she smiled happily, giving an impression that I had paid her a compliment. “Oh, that? I only put it down fora short time. She said, “I always plan to get it again,” in a voice that felt offhand almost to pain.
No, you haven’t and I kept my voice smooth.
She sighed and pushed back a shiny strand of her hair with her finger. You understand what happens on a busy day.
No, Connie. I was not at all prepared. In the end, she did not come back for that object.
There was no stopping the trash; some days it was one bag, some days two to three bags piled up. Old apple bits, leftover plastic boxes for salad and sometimes napkins that seem as if they’ve been dipped in coffee. At one moment, a disgusting diaper actually made me feel like I was going to throw up.
The story was a bit strange, as far as I knew, Connie didn’t have kids, so how the comment started was a mystery to me.
I did my best to keep a calm mind.
I approached her door, left light notes and even sent a text to the number she had written at the emergency contact board! She would always come up with an excuse such as being short of time, not recognizing her own bag or thinking the building would manage it.
Soon enough, she disappeared from my life without notice. No response. She clearly told me that I was worthless, yet I kept picking up her messes. Besides, I was going through grief, finances trouble, exhaustion and being alone which were not good for fighting.
Probably, Connie earned that expectation when he joined.
I decided it would be a good idea to see the landlord. Yet, Peter was an old man who had lived longer than the building he stood in and he didn’t really help anyone. Telling management about a leaking pipe didn’t bring any help and it happened twice. I could not imagine that unofficial politics in the hallways would do much.
After finishing a long double shift at the bookstore, I came home late one night. My feet ached, my head was pounding and standing next to me were three trash bags I hadn’t yet moved. The first one had tipped over, dripping dark and smelly sludge onto the carpet which filled the hallway with unpleasant odors. I was standing there, holding my groceries, when I felt inside me crack apart.
I didn’t shout during the argument. I didn’t break down or pound the door at the neighbor’s house. I just avoided the pile of trash and entered my apartment using the key.
This gave me the idea that guided my next steps!
If Connie wanted to fill the hallway with litter, that’s fine. However, I no longer had to clean after her all the time!
I kept the trash at the same place when I woke up the next day. Then comes the following one. And the following.
After three days, the stench was awful! The neighbors living below made complaints about what was happening upstairs. More residents started adding comments on the Facebook group for the building.
Is anyone able to explain what’s taking place in room 2B? It smells like a burning fire in a garbage bin above you.
I encountered big heaps of trash. Does your peer collect so much clutter it lines the halls?
Then, photos were taken of the trash bags and some even had the Connie’s name written on them in black, bold letters from the style shop receipts.
Nevertheless, my awful neighbor did not offer anything to help. Listening to her footsteps, I could tell she daintily avoided the things she didn’t want to see as she moved down the hallway.
During the fifth day, all the action came together!
Fire inspection was taking place, something everyone in the dorms tried to avoid. When the fire marshal, a short man holding a clipboard and giving a serious look, reached the second floor, he saw the garbage and blew his top.
Who is responsible for this unit? I could hear him barking loudly through the walls which probably meant he was looking at all the doors.
As I saw him raise his fist to knock, I opened the door before he got there.
I said apologetically, “I feel very sorry for you.” That’s not something I said or wrote. You can find it at the next door neighbor’s house. It looks like she has been keeping it at the hotel for several weeks.
His eyes squinted. Have you got any evidence?
I didn’t need to answer the question.
In that same moment, Connie showed up, wearing a white tennis skirt and a pastel pink polo and carrying a fresh bag of trash in her hand! She became completely frozen and intimidated upon seeing the marshal.
“I… I… I know it’s not really lasting,” she managed. “I move it at all times!”
“It’s not up to par!,” the marshal yelled. This is a danger because it could easily catch fire! A risk for people’s health! The hallway is cluttered because of all your trash!
She was made to clean it right away by him.
Rubber gloves. Face mask. I got the mop and bucket by borrowing them from the janitor.
Several neighbors were gathered and some were caught on camera by open-minded passers-by. Connie’s face turned bright red from embarrassment as she cleaned the carpet.
I stood outside my room and did not exchange words.
After that, she had to write an apology in the Facebook group:Sorry for any trouble I caused. This situation will not recur.
It was very quick, unnatural and totally fake, but it was sufficient.
The final highlight? Seven days later, the building manager was finally prompted by the fire marshal’s strong report and endless complaints from residents to give Connie a written warning. If this happens again, she would be forced to leave.
Following that, the hallway never experienced any messes after I received my warning.
But karma continued to play a role in her life!
Several days after that, I encountered a crumpled note hidden under my door when I got back home. I proceeded to get it and fully believing it might burn me with its hate.
Are you nuts or something? I wish that you’re happy,” said the letter with a tone of agitation. It seems like everyone now hates me because of you!
All I wanted to do was clean the building! It could have been nice if you were a decent neighbor, but now I look like I belong in the trash!
I laughed out loud with true joy which seemed to have been ages since I did it.
“Oh, Connie. It was your own fault, I kept thinking as I walked away.
Her attitude changed fast when the truth about her came out in front of her.
A few days after, I ran into Jenna from 3A when I was bringing groceries up the stairs; it was easy to recognize her sweet scent of cinnamon.
I was glad to see you smiling once more, she expressed kindly. Good neighbors are always a nice addition to your life.
When I smiled, I felt like my chest was feeling much lighter than it had before.
I thanked them. I’m happy to be back in my home country again.
