Gladys Kravitz may be living across the hall.
A gaggle of besties helped me move two years ago. As moving is such fun, we try hard to make anyone’s moving day a happy one. Perhaps we’re a bit loud. The door is open. Various peeps wander in and out. I lumber down the hall with the garage’s rolling cart precariously filled with anything smaller than a chair. Sisterella and I laugh at the sight.
“Who’s making all that noise?” It’s the lady from across the hall.
“Um, hi. That would be me. I’m…” My extended hand meets thin air as she turns and shuts the door. “It’s a friendly place,” I tell Sisterella.
My guess? She is the Mrs. Kravitz of my building and the evidence is mounting. Who’s Mrs. Kravitz? You know from Bewitched? What kind of childhood did you have? Catch up. It’s on cable everyday. Mrs. Kravitz was the nosy neighbor who spent her days perched in the front window reporting the comings and goings of Samantha, Darrin and the other witches flitting about the Stephens’ home. Since she was such a busybody nobody believed her stories of flying, broomsticks and floating objects. Kind of like the little boy who cried wolf but with witchy stuff.
Come home to a missive taped to the garage wall, just before the elevator. Typed, I presume to make identification impossible the note reads:
WHOEVER MESSES UP THE FLOOR IN THE GARAGE, CLEAN IT UP. YOU MESS IT UP. YOU CLEAN IT UP!
I look about the floor. Hard to tell with a garage used by some thirty or so cars. There is a splatter near the sign. Looks like a spill. Notes from the Association appear official and are placed on a board next to the elevator. This one is clearly home made and taped willy-nilly to a wall. Middle Chicken and I recognize a condo mystery when we see it. Then we laugh.
Mystery continues a few weeks later when an RV is parked in the underground. This time the sign is in the elevator.
WHOEVER PARKED AN RV IN THE GARAGE IS JUST RUDE. THE HOA CLEARLY STATES NO RVS IN THE GARAGE. THIS IS JUST RUDE.
Shortly after, a jacket is left on the rolling cart. The next day the cart is gone but the coat is placed on the ground where the car was. Another note, handwritten this time.
THANK YOU FOR THROWING MY JACKET ON THE FLOOR, with an arrow pointing down in case we do not recognize either said jacket or the floor.
Is it Mrs. Kravitz across the hall? No one knows. What I do know is the other day, Middle Chicken and I round the corner and there in the hall, right outside Mrs. Kravitz’ door is a potato. A single potato. Sitting on the floor all by itself. We took a photo in case later there’s a need for identification.