I picked up my phone.
Twelve seconds of video.
The tea bag on my balcony.
The balcony above.
The date and time.
Clear.
Simple.
Undeniable.
I uploaded it immediately.
What followed was almost disappointingly undramatic.
The management company acknowledged my complaint.
They issued a reference number.
Several days later, Daniel received a formal notice reminding him of the lease terms.
Then the tea bags stopped.
One morning.
Then another.
Then another.
I sat outside with my coffee and enjoyed fifteen uninterrupted minutes of absolutely nothing happening.
It was wonderful.
Two weeks later, I found a handwritten note in my mailbox.
It said:
You could have just talked to me. I would have stopped. You didn’t need to involve management.
I read it twice.
Then I wrote back.
I did talk to you. Twice.
The first time, you promised to stop.
The second time, you told me I was lucky it was only tea bags and closed the door.
I’m not sure what additional conversation you expected.
I have lived here for eleven years.
I signed for your packages all last winter.
I try to be a good neighbor.
That works both ways.
The tea bags have stopped.
That was all I wanted.
I put the note in his mailbox.
He never replied.
And the tea bags never returned.
That could have been the end of the story.
But apartment buildings are not single transactions.
They are communities.
And people are usually more complicated than the worst thing they have done.
Six weeks later, Mrs. Okafor from 2C came to visit me.
