| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 4, 2025 |
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An unspoken conversation
The Complainer
by Jim Wile
Janice drove up, parked in her driveway, and got out of her car. It was sweltering out—96 degrees in the shade—and I was about beat. It was the hottest part of the day. The sun was glaring and the cadence of cicadas filled the air.
“What are you doing?” she said with that imperious tone of hers.
I had been taking care of a few chores around the neighborhood instead of calling in a vendor to do them. It’s something I often do as the HOA president to save us some money. I had just come from a neighbor’s house where I had adjusted a sprinkler head that was spraying water onto her porch, and I had unclogged a couple of her downspouts. Before that, I’d been picking up garbage that had made its way into our flower beds at the entry to the neighborhood. I was in no mood for Janice’s histrionics and that sour puss of hers, but as usual, I was as polite as I could be.
“Hi, Janice. I’m repairing the wire on this strand of mini-lights. You told me the landscapers clipped it when they pruned this little tree last week.”
“Yes, but I requested they buy me a new strand and install it rather than have some shoddy repair done. This is unacceptable. I pay my dues each month, which, by the way, are far too high in my opinion, and I expect better service for it. Just look at this pine needle mulch. You need to apply it more often than once a year. I’m going to move to a neighborhood where they care more about keeping up the property values. That’s even if I can sell my house.”
I’d had about enough of this diatribe from Janice—a thorn in my side from the beginning of my time as the president of the HOA nine years ago. I was hot and sweaty from standing in the sun splicing the cut ends of the wires together, and I’d been swatting away at mosquitos the whole time. I was in no mood to take this crap, and I began fantasizing about how to respond….
“It took me 10 minutes to splice these wires. It would have taken an hour to take pictures, email the landscape vendor, email him again when you complain about how he’s not acting quickly enough, and keep reporting back to you.”
“I wanted a new strand.”
“Well, I want to have a new body, like my 20-year-old one, but you can’t always get what you want, to quote a popular song. If I complained to the landscaper every time you had a gripe about something, we’d never get anyone to work for us. Sometimes it’s just easier to fix things myself. You’ve got a real people problem, Janice.”
“How dare you! What do you mean by that? And I get along just fine—with reasonable people.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s not what I heard from the vendor who just power-washed our homes. He said you cursed him out and accused him of spraying water all over your living room floor. He proved to you that you had left the window cracked open, although you denied it. And how about a couple of weeks ago when you complained to our landscape vendor that a worker filled his giant spray tank from your outside faucet and that you would be subsidizing the water for the whole neighborhood? It was a 3-gallon tank, for Christ’s sake! The cost to you? About four cents.” I fished in my pocket for a nickel and handed it to her. “Here, keep the change.”
She didn’t take the nickel but countered with “Well, what about these pine needles? You don’t apply them often enough.”
“If you had bothered to come to the annual meeting last year, you would have had a chance to vote on the issue. After lengthy discussion, it was decided that if some people wanted more, they could finance a second application themselves. You want more? Buy your own.”
She wasn’t making any headway with me, so she tried a new tack. “You just waste our money. Why do we have to pay a management company $5,000 every year when we should be able to manage the place ourselves? We’re just a small HOA.”
“We? Don’t you mean ‘You should be able to manage it, Jim?’ So, in addition to the many hours I already spend, now you want me to do what the management company does too? How many more of my unpaid hours would be enough for you, Janice? And what exactly do you do to help out? I’ve never seen you lift a finger to do anything we’ve asked the neighbors for help with. There’s nothing stopping you from picking up trash that’s in the flower beds, you know.
“No, you’d rather complain that the dues are too high and you’re not getting your money’s worth. You have no friggin’ idea how much things cost and how much we do to keep the dues down. Besides, I would stack our neighborhood up against any other around here in terms of curb appeal. And for your information, no one has ever had a problem selling their house here, and you won’t either. So, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Janice.”
Much as I might have wanted to say all this to her when she told me she would be moving, it’s just not my style. I simply said, “Well, I hope you find a place where you’ll be happier.” I’ve spent years trying to keep the peace in this neighborhood, and I wasn’t about to sink to her level.
She huffed into her house.
After finishing up the repair, I headed home. I walked in the shade. A little breeze freshened the air, and it felt good. On the way, I admired the neatly trimmed bushes, the thick, green turf of the lawns, the weedless beds of pine needles, and the immaculately clean houses in my neighborhood, and I mused on how much some people just love to complain—about anything and nothing.
 Recognized |
#20 July 2025 |
This is mostly a true story. Janice is actually a composite of several neighbors in our HOA over the years. Fortunately for me, they've all moved out. Most people are very kind and appreciative. But there have always been a few...
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