Mr. X and I have a beach house on the Eastern Shore in a new community. Since both Mr. X and I have worked for builders and developers, and since we’re no beginners when it comes to new homes, we were pretty sure we knew what we were signing up for.
Obviously, we were wrong.
The first time we saw a bunch of people outside in their yards we calculated the average age to be roughly 84. Surprisingly though, the residents of the community are tech-savvy enough to have started this message board on Yahoo. It wasn’t hard to find and register, and apparently they have not locked it down from the public. I foolishly signed up to receive every email message that posts to the message board and as any blogger knows full well, it is extremely hard to sit on one’s hands when a stupidity parade is on display.
The people who we share this community with, are, well, how shall I put this. Really. Fucking. Stupid. Mr. X has implored me to not respond. I am not to jump into the fights about the incompetence of the management company. I am not to reply that I worked for several developers. I am not to reply that I work for a management company. Nothing. He does not want me to end up on the Board out there like I am here in D.C.
So, the message board. I read probably three dozen replies to a post that started with someone stepping in dog crap and morphed to people wanting to put the dog crap on the offenders front door, to a fight about “poop stations” and I had to shut down by the time they were planning to stomp through the neighborhood en masse with white hoods and capes to lynch the offender. Oh, and I know what you’re thinking. It’s not me. I may rarely abide by the leash law, but I always pick up the poop. Always.
Suddenly this thought popped into my head: I live in fucking South Park. Except it’s Eastern Shore Park. Here’s the video interpretation of what our community message boards look like:
The other day someone posted about wanting to plan a bus trip to D.C. I politely replied saying I lived in downtown and would help them with anything they may need on this end. For me, that reply was really pre-damage control, as I’d rather make nice now so as to not get annoying notes on my front door about my dogs being off leash. I texted Mr. X that I had done this and conveyed my motives. At the same time, another thread was growing in replies debating the type of tree we should plant at the community entrance.
“I like Bradford Pear trees.”
“Oh no, I had those in my last community and the roots rip up the sidewalks.”
“Yes, my neighbor’s son’s bookie’s baby-mama had one out in Atlantic City and they didn’t like it. Wait. Maybe that was a Maple. Forget it.”
So Mr. X decided to reply to my email about helping them plan their D.C. old biddy bus trip and he pulled amateur hour 101.
Even though he replied to my email it still copied to the entire message board. That shit landed in the inbox of 100 some odd retirees and busybodies with nothing better to do. Nice going Mr. X. Real nice going. If we get kicked out of Del Boca Vista Eastern Shore Park Sun City, I’ll kick your ass.