The seedy underbelly of a neighborhood in crisis

There are many wonderful, fulfilling benefits of owning your own home, and I’ve enjoyed them all these past seven-plus years in ol’ 5135.  But there are also drawbacks when you unknowingly buy into a neighborhood whose association is manned by those who are just bored enough to endeavor to micromanage every aspect of their neighbors’ lives.

Last week I received a notice from an “Architectural Committee Survey” that outlined all the various horrifyingly offensive violations that have been committed by the rogue elements of our little neighborhood, which actually amounts to over 70% of the uncleansed homeowner masses.  Curiously, it seems the only houses omitted from the hit-list where those of the originators of the survey…  I’m sure that’s coincidental.

Here is just a brief sampling of the many egregious sins that the heathens of Woodland Trace have recently perpetrated:

• “Casing on side of garage door needs paint”  (This one’s me – I’m so ashamed of my 2-inch blight unto our civilization)
• “Light rusted in front”
• “Needs cleaning/pressure washing”  (on no less than 3 separate houses – the horror!)
• “Door casing over garage needs paint… side of house needs pressure washing”
• “Need numbers on mailbox”
• “Rear deck door frame rotting”
• “Deck needs cleaning”
• “Siding needs repair”

The humanity.  The horror!  The unmitigated gall.  The sheer, unadulterated, irresponsible behavior exhibited by those of us who have the nerve to hold down regular employment and recklessly fill the remainder of our time with hobbies and social activities.  I mean, this is supposed to be a civilized country!  I’m so ashamed of my neighborhood, which to the naked eye appears perfectly immaculate and infinitely attractive in every imaginable way.  I’m so grateful that the seedy underbelly has now been exposed.

This survey was done under the guise of “protecting the value of our neighbors’ property”.  Needless to say, I placed — shall we say — an unenthused call to the neighborhood association’s grand poobah and kindly made it clear that my embarassment of a home was no longer subject to anyone’s judgment but my own, and that my offensive dump was to be omitted from any further high-level investigations such as this.  And I did so in a way that left very little room for debate.  And now I’m the neighborhood pariah.  And I’m ok with that, because in my America, a 2-inch spot of slightly worn paint on a garage door frame is something less than condemning.