A bad neighbor can honestly make or break a home. These poor folks share the wildest thing they’ve experienced from their crazy neighbors.
“My neighbor where I currently live called my fiancé and told him I was cheating on him. She took pictures and all and sent them to him.
When we first moved to this new place, I was 6 months pregnant. Our neighborhood welcomed us to the neighborhood very nicely.
Then, my fiancé switched jobs and had to travel for 3 weeks to another state. He was worried about leaving me alone in a new neighborhood at 6 months pregnant so we decided to talk to our next-door neighbor.
We talked to them. They were very nice. The husband was in the Army for 20 years and then became a deputy sheriff. The wife was a stay-at-home mom.
Then my fiancé told them if it’d be too much to ask for their number in case I needed it for an emergency or whatnot. My fiancé told them he was going to be traveling and he was worried about leaving me home alone. ( Even with a home alarm system, my fiancé worried so much about me)
Anyways, the neighbors came over a couple of times to our house before my fiancé had to travel. We noticed the wife was overly nice. You know, the type who’s way too nice to be true?
So my fiancé leaves out of state and during one of those days my younger brother calls me and tells me he will be around the area and if he could hang out with me and have lunch with me. I said sure and we went out for lunch. It had been a very long time since I’d seen my brother so when we met at the restaurant he was being very sweet.
He would put his arm around my shoulder and we were just having a great time.
From the corner of my eye, I feel someone just looking my way. I turn around and there she was- my neighbor with her phone out. It seemed like she was taking a picture of us.
When she saw me, she quickly put the phone down and waved at me.
I told my brother she was our neighbor and we went on with our day.
My fiancé then texts me about an hour later: ‘The neighbor just sent me these pictures. She thinks you’re cheating on me with someone but I haven’t told her that’s your brother. Should I play along?’
To this day, she cannot look me in the eye.”
“Are You Trying To Kill My Husband?!”
“I had one neighbor who accused me of murdering her husband. Yeah. So one day I answered the door, totally looking a fright. I was wearing flannel pyjamas, and had one of my 15-month-old twin sons clinging to my leg, and the other held in my arms. They were both whining because it was around 5:30pm, just on dusk of a winter’s evening. I was just about to bathe the kids and desperately hoping my husband would arrive home from work soon to help me.
Standing in front of me was my next-door neighbour Alice, a woman of around 60, who I’d had reasonably cordial relations with, and I greeted her with a smile and was about to say hello, when – without a word of greeting – she said:
‘You’ve got my bin.’
I was startled. I was thinking about baths and dinner and when my husband would get home.
‘My wheely bin! You’ve got my wheely bin in your driveway!’
It was a Monday. Every Sunday night, we put our rubbish bins – also called ‘wheely bins’ – out on the street, and our local council trucks come and empty them, then we bring them back onto our properties.
Apparently, Alice’s had a special sticker on it from her husband’s workplace, which is how she identified hers, and her bin was in our driveway.
[I didn’t yet know it, but I pieced together later what had happened. We’d forgotten to put our bin out the night before. My husband Mike heard the truck coming Monday morning, and because we live on a cul-de-sac, we missed the truck on the first run down the street, so Mike put our bin on the other side of the street to be collected on the return run, then he went off to work. Later, my Mum stopped by, and seeing an empty bin sitting between our house and Alice’s, which is where we usually put our bin, and our bin spot empty, she thought that it was our bin, and brought it in. It was Alice’s. An innocent mistake that began the whole BinGate debacle. Our empty bin was sitting across the street the whole time.]
‘Oh, sorry! Please take it back!’
‘Well, that doesn’t really make things right, does it? Where’s your bin?’
‘I don’t know where my bin is, but I’ll sort that out.’
‘Why did you take our bin?’
‘I have no idea. There’s obviously been some kind of mix-up. I didn’t bring it in. Has it been damaged? What’s the problem?’
‘Well, Bill [her husband] isn’t a good man. He’s been beside himself all day, wondering where our bin is. He’s walked up and down the street looking for our bin, and he couldn’t find it. Eventually, not being able to find it, he felt compelled to steal somebody else’s bin! Now I’m worried that the Police are going to get involved, and I just don’t know how Bill would cope with prison. Do you know what men do to other men in prison?’
I stood there, jaw-dropping, thinking I must be being punked, waiting for my friends to jump out and tell me that they’d put her up to this. I couldn’t muster a single word.
The kids are starting to grizzle, but I barely even notice.
I’m in the freaking Twilight Zone.
‘I know you young people are all OK with this kind of carry-on and think it’s no big deal, but Bill’s of a different generation and I just don’t know how he’d adapt to prison life and man-on-man and all that. Honestly, I think it’d kill him.’
Then she starts giving me the crazy eyes, and delivers the immortal line:
‘WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER MY HUSBAND?’
At that point, I just wanted her gone.
‘Please, just take your bin.’
And I closed the door.
And stood there, mouth working, but unable to form words, sure that it was some kind of elaborate joke.
Then I took the kids up for a bath.
One of my best dinner party stories ever.
Postscript: Bill did die a couple of years later. She didn’t seem terribly upset about it. The undertaker was at the house around 8 am. By noon, the charity shop had been to collect all his clothes and other possessions. By mid-afternoon, a car broker had come to take away his car. By sunset, she and her daughters were drinking Moscato on the verandah and there was no sign the guy had ever existed.”
“She came over and knocked on my door and by the look on her face I could tell she was livid and so I asked her if everything was okay. She pointed to the mutual hedge between our houses, which I had clipped the day before. Now keep in mind this hedge is mostly private which is just underbrush basically. Of the two of us I am the one who keeps my yard up and she is not that interested in yard work. But this day she was upset because I had dared to clip the bushes more than she thought was appropriate. I had clipped them before and it was no problem but now she was not happy. She proceeded to cuss me out saying…’Who f…ing does that?’ They were clipped a bit more than usual but they would grow back, I said. She would not back down and was threatening me with a lawsuit and fines until I finally told her I wasn’t going to stand there and take that abuse.
Several hours later, I was coming down my driveway and I saw her sitting on her porch. She practically leaped off the porch and came into my yard shaking some papers in my face telling me she had talked to her lawyer. Turns out they were clearly meant to scare me, which they didn’t because they were very bogus-looking papers.
Then the next morning, early, a policeman came to my door before I was even dressed. He seemed rather embarrassed to even be there when I asked him what the problem was and so I asked if it was concerning my neighbor? He nodded and said, ‘Ma’am I’m just doing my job and I need you to fill out some papers.’ I asked him if it was against the law to clip mutual bushes and he just said, ‘Ma’am, she filed a complaint so we have to follow up.’ Well, he went to his police car and sat there for the longest time and then he drove off and I never saw him again.
My neighbor was still on the warpath and she would do things like park in our mutual driveway and park at the very edge of the drive so that I had to park on the street and couldn’t get in. One time she actually parked behind me blocking me in. And if a friend came and parked in the driveway she put a note on their car, saying ‘PLEASE don’t park here!!!’ Eventually she sent me some more papers from some legal something or another; it seemed like more hogwash to me saying that it wasn’t safe for either of us to park in the drive in case there was a fire because the fire trucks couldn’t get in there and I would be responsible and she hoped I would do the right thing.
Now I was beginning to doubt the mental stability of my neighbor and I just took all this in without saying a whole lot. But after the police visit I did write her a letter telling her the police probably had better things to do with their time and if I ever clip the bushes again I will be sure and ask her and I did deliver the letter in person.
Time went on and she would barely speak to me for over a year. If I was working outside, and the houses are close together, and she was on her porch I would say hello and she would not even look at me. But I did not return her coldness with coldness and I did not seek revenge and eventually, she started saying hello again. She even left me some cookies for Christmas one time. Of course they were packaged because I may not have eaten them thinking she was trying to poison me otherwise.
So this is my disrespectful experience with my neighbor. Hope you learned something about those supposedly nice neighbors of yours. You never know.”
No Wonder They Don’t Talk Anymore
“We’ve lived here for 14 years, and have had several run-ins with the woman next door, who is usually known as the Parking Nazi. She and her husband have two adult sons that have moved away, and the husband has Multiple Sclerosis.
The first thing that we noticed was that if one of our friends came to visit and parked anywhere near the front of her house, she’d come knocking to ask them to move. This happened several times, and even though we all know that street parking is for everyone and that no one owns the city street, we acquiesced to keep the peace.
My husband often stepped in to help the neighbor’s husband – since he had MS, it was hard for him to put up Christmas lights, or clean and repair his gutters. He did this regularly for years, in spite of the nasty wife.
One summer about four years ago, the husband called over the fence. He asked my husband if we had any use for the box springs from underneath his king-sized bed; he’d bought a new one and didn’t want to deal with the old ones. We did not! We have enough stuff! But my husband took them and said to me later, ‘It’s fine – I’ll take them to the dump, he’s got health issues…’
Now this would have actually cost us time and money, but my husband is a good guy. Later that day, while working in the front yard, we overheard them on the front porch. The husband had just told her that we would take the box springs. ‘Are they going to pay us $50.00?’ she asked. I looked over at my husband and he just shook his head and shrugged. ‘God dang it, Maureen, they’re not worth anything! I just want them gone. Maybe they’ll get some use out of them-‘ but Maureen just said ‘fine but he’s doing something for those. I’ll ask him to clean the gutters.’ At this point, my husband knew he wouldn’t be cleaning the gutters again.
The next day, my husband got home from work, had his supper, and laid down for a nap (he did this a lot then), and shortly after, the neighbor came to the door asking for him, but I sent her away, saying he was sleeping. I thought that was the end of it, but she came back 90 minutes later! I slammed the door in her face.
We didn’t hear a thing from them for months. One wintery day, it dumped about three feet of snow and my entire neighborhood was out shoveling – except – you guessed it – the Parking Nazi. She stayed inside. Four hours later, we had two spaces cleared in front of our house, plus part of the street.
The next day, I got home from work to see MY NEIGHBOUR’S CAR taking up both spots that we had cleared. The spot in front of her place, still piled high with snow. I threw my car in Park, stomped up to her house and banged on the front door. She opened it in her nighty. I couldn’t be civil. ‘You get out there and move that stupid truck right NOW. I didn’t spend hours clearing that out so that you could just take it. And parked in the middle!’ Then she says she’s parked that way in order to ‘save’ that spot for her Uncle. I lost it! ‘If you don’t move it right now I’m going to move it the HECK for you’ and got back into my car. Thank goodness that she moved it -clearing that snow was back-breaking labour, and I would have punched her in the face if she hadn’t moved. We don’t speak now.”
Lovely Neighborhood Ya Got There
“When I was a kid, my family lived in a small apartment complex. There was a clique of tenants that had lived there for years, giving the place a friendly, tight-knit feel.
Our upstairs neighbors were a middle-aged married couple, P and J. They seemed like nice, normal people. The only weird instances were when they gave me a large bag of toys for no reason and once when I was sitting outside playing alone, the wife insisted I come upstairs. I knew my parents would kill me if I went anywhere without their permission, so I declined.
P and J were good friends with an older man that lived in the apartment building next to ours. This guy…this guy was odd. He liked to walk laps around the complex, sticking his nose into everyone’s business. But he did this with his pet bird on his shoulder. It would poop all over him and he never seemed to notice. But Mr. Poo Shoulder was one of the complex’s longtimers and was friendly enough, so no harm, right?
One day after school, my mom brought me into the bathroom (I guess it was our most soundproof room, ha). In hushed tones, she explained to me that our upstairs neighbor J (the husband) was a bit of a creeper. He had used his daughter’s address across town, so the police hadn’t known to notify the neighborhood about him. The landlord evicted them soon after it all came to light.
A few months later, my dad was attending a seminar for a volunteer police force thing. The trainees were watching a slideshow of criminals in the area (or statewide?) and whose face should appear but Mr. Poo Shoulder! Turns out he was a well-known offender from a city in the southern part of the state.
The sickest part about it was that apparently, the clique of long-time tenants had had some kind of inkling of who P, J, and Mr. Poo Shoulder were, yet they let unsuspecting families socialize with them.
All those people moved away and things in the complex were quiet for a while… until the landlord was replaced by an uber-religious couple who, over the course of their tenancy, became hardcore partiers, turned the complex into a partying haven, got addicted to pills, she got knocked up by a tenant, and he moved away and got mugged in an alley.”
Attack of The Mormons
“I have had some horrible neighbors. But the worst were not the crack heads who stole our mail or the crazy guy who got wasted and destroyed my garden and entire front yard and then demanded I PAY him for the ‘work he did’. Nope. The worst neighbors I ever had were the Naughty Mormons.
I was in grad school and lived with a roommate and a teenage cousin who I had guardianship over. We lived in a horrible, run down apartment building. The hot water pipes under the building leaked…right under our apartment. It was always 85 degrees inside. We never needed to turn on the heat. Next door was an ‘overflow’ apartment for a African American Sorority, so it was LOUD. Every Friday and Saturday night they threw parties with pounding house music until 2 am. None of this was a problem. The manager was a sweet older lady. She was mostly non-hearing so didnt care about the normal college noise. Fixed major issues quickly. Let you have until the 5th to pay without a late fee. It was cheap and the people in the building were cool. Until they moved in.
The Naughty Mormons were six people crammed into a tiny two-bedroom. Three boys on bunk beds and a trundle in the den, a guy who later moved in his girlfriend, and his 2 female cousins. They were awful. The first day they blocked our parking spots moving in. We went over to ask them if they needed help (it was that kind of building…people just were nice and helpful to their neighbors). The first thing the dude said to us was ‘I’ll break your windshield.’ We had just offered to help them out! His response was to threaten us.
And then…he did it. With a baseball bat. My roommate and I just stood there in total mouth-gaped shock. The sweet old lady manager caught him doing it. She took control and called the cops. It was surreal. We even said we just wanted the windshield fixed, not for any other arrest or ‘punishment’ to occur. The kid ends up with unsupervised probation. From then on, it was pure agony.
Their apartment was right above ours. The kids in the triple jumped out of bed from the top bunk. It sounded like a shot going off. The dude and his girlfriend had screaming lovemaking at all hours of the night and each and EVERY time they played selections from the ‘Southpark Soundtrack’ afterwards. It was bizarre. Then the two girl cousins joined a ‘dance crew’ and practiced hip hop and stomp dancing at 1 and 2 am on weekdays. In their bedroom. This enraged the sorority girls next door and eventually the third or fourth time they ‘practiced’ one of the sorority girls beat them down when she saw them the next day. After a verbal altercation where they used racial slurs, she went after them. Then her roommates joined in. There was a legit brawl on the lawn where we all used to chill together and BBQ.
And worst: they played basketball in their apartment. At 2 am and 3 am. Most weekdays. Usually it was only for 3 or so minutes because dribbling on carpet is a lot of work. But I had work and internship. My kid had school. My roommate worked 8–5.
One night they played a full game. 30 minutes in I finally lost it. I went outside, in my PJs. stomped up the stairs, and pounded on the door. I didn’t even know what I was going to say or do, I was that mad. The dude opens his door and I see they have added 2 more bunk beds in the living room. He had the basketball under his arm balanced on his hip. I grabbed it. And walked back downstairs without saying anything. He followed me shocked, sputtering about stealing his ball. I never said a word, just walked into my apartment and slammed the door in his face.
The next day after work the manager and he are at my door. She asks why I took the ball and I let her know about the basketball, and then jumping out of the top bunk, the extra people in the apartment, the screaming shacking up followed by blaring South Park music. The neighbors came out and started in about the ‘dance crew’ and their prejudice. Finally, she turns to the kid and says: one more thing, ONE, and I call your Bishop.
Turns out the local ward was paying for this nonsense. No more super loud noise after that threat, but we got missionaries and so did the girls next door three times a day for the rest of the year. I have never been so happy to move.”
Who Steals a Cat?!
“One time my neighbor stole my cat.
First, I asked for my cat back. She ran into my arms when this crazy woman opened the door. My neighbor then insisted that I was harassing HER cat, grabbed Marie out of my arms, and slammed the door in my face.
Naturally, I called the police and they came over. She argued with them for like 15 minutes, while I was showing them picture after picture of me and Marie I had on my phone. Finally, I showed them all the papers I had for her (vaccination records, her adoption forms, etc) and they said ‘Look lady, I don’t know why you’re still keeping this up, we know the cat isn’t yours, please just give her back so we don’t have to forcibly take her.’ She told them to get a warrant and tried to shut the door, but the officer stopped her, then told me to go get my cat. I took one step inside, and Marie ran to me again and we walked out. She slammed the door while screaming at us, and the officers told me to call them again if anything happened.
I kept Marie inside until we were able to move about two months later. Every time she saw me in those two months, she would scream obscenities at me and would tell anyone nearby about how I forcibly removed HER cat. Fortunately, no one believed her because apparently, she had done this before…”
This Guy Has Seen Some Stuff
“I was around six or seven years old and it was in the early 1970s. I lived on a country road with only a few neighbors. It was around 3 AM one summer night and hot. AC wasn’t really around yet so all windows in the house were open and a light rainstorm with occasional flashes of lightning was going on. My bedroom had a window facing the road with a view of the neighbor’s driveway and front lawn. I was in the top bunk at window level with my younger brother on the bunk below.
I woke up due to lightning and thunder. Between bursts, I could hear someone crying and sobbing uncontrollably. I strained to see where it was coming from when a lightning flash revealed my neighbor sitting in the lawn near the road hunched over crying and rocking back and forth. I went to my parents’ room, woke my father, and told him what I saw. My father advised that our neighbor was a combat veteran who had just got home from Vietnam and he was having nightmares. Later in life, I learned that he was a Marine in the infantry and had witnessed things no person should have to endure. I watched my dad put on his raincoat, grab an umbrella and go sit next to him. He put his arm around him and sat and hugged him while covering him with the umbrella for at least an hour. To this day It’s one of the most compassionate and emotional things I’ve ever witnessed.”
Well That’s a Bit of a Twist
“When we first moved to California, we lived in an apartment complex. It was me, my wife and our three little girls (6,2,1). When the complex manager showed us the available suites she kept showing us second floor units. I gestured to my girls and asked if there were any units on the ground floor as whoever was downstairs would complain because kids will be kids. She assured me that all the units were well insulated and not to worry as sound doesn’t travel that much in these units.
OK. So we move in and everything is cool. I actually introduced myself to our neighbours downstairs and let them know we have kids. If they have any issues with noise please let us know and we will try to remedy the situation as best we can. Actually it was a single guy who was hardly ever home. In any case our kids were in bed by 8pm and he didn’t think it would be a problem. All sounds good.
A couple of weeks later, we came home to find a complaint notice from management on our door. Apparently one of our neighbours complained about our girls making noise by running around! What?! I went downstairs to ask our neighbour why he had made a complaint when I’d asked him to let me know first. He had no clue what I was talking about and said he wasn’t bothered by the noise. OK.
The following week there’s another complaint notice! This time I go over to the management building to find out what’s going on. Apparently, it’s the upstairs neighbour who filed the complaints! What? You mean the ones who stomp around like the Hulk? The ones who make panky so loudly we have to put earplugs on our kids? So I go upstairs to talk to this neighbour – it was the complex manager who rented the unit to us!”