This morning, though, things took a turn.
A note came through my letterbox. A smug, handwritten message that made my stomach drop. He said that since I’d “blocked the community socket”—yes, he called my socket that—he would now need to charge his e-bike inside my house when it rains.
And then he had the audacity to ask me to leave my back gate unlocked so he could come in on Saturday.
I just stood there in my hallway, note in hand, absolutely frozen.
I’m not trying to cause a neighborhood war. I even offered a reasonable solution—told him I’d go halves on getting a sparky to fit an outdoor socket on his own wall. He flat-out refused.
