When my new neighbor, Claire, moved in six months ago, I thought she was just a regular person. I assumed she would mind her own business and not cause any trouble in the neighborhood.
She was in her 40s, lived with her 16-year-old son, Adam, and at first, she seemed friendly. She smiled when we passed each other, waved from her driveway, and even made small talk when she saw me gardening.
Like any good neighbor, I tried to be helpful. I lent her a ladder when she needed one. Let her borrow my garden hose. And when she mentioned that she didn’t have a grill, I told her she could use ours whenever we weren’t home.
I figured it was no big deal. Just being a good neighbor, right?
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The Disaster
One weekend, my husband, David, and I took the kids to visit my parents.
“We can have a date night while your parents take over with Grandma and Grandpa duty,” David said, tossing some snacks into a bag for the two-hour drive.
The idea of a little getaway sounded perfect. I had been feeling restless and needed a change of scenery before I started feeling completely suffocated.
We were gone for two days.
And when we came back?
My God.
Our backyard looked like it had been hit by a tornado. But not just any tornado. A tornado that had a frat house party before it left.
Empty beer bottles littered the patio. My beautiful potted plants were turned upside down, some even broken. The kids’ toys were scattered everywhere, like someone had been playing a weird game of fetch. Grease stains covered the deck. And worst of all? Our once-pristine grill station looked like it had survived an explosion.
I stood there, staring at the chaos, my eye twitching.
Deep breaths, Camilla. Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for this.
So, I marched next door and knocked. Claire answered the door, still in pajamas, completely unbothered.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, laughing. “That was Adam’s birthday party. You know how kids are, right? It’s just what they do.”
I blinked. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting.
Just what kids do? Was she serious? Didn’t she see the disaster in my backyard? What the hell?!
“My backyard isn’t a public park, Claire. You could’ve at least cleaned up.”
“Oh, don’t be so uptight, Camilla,” she said with a shrug. “It’s just a little mess. You’ll get over it. Surely, you and your husband can use a hose? A little bit of water will clear that up.”
I could have thrown something at her.
Oh, I’ll get over it? Sure.
Time for Some Rules
I stomped back into my house, fuming. What was I supposed to do? Be reasonable? Or be absolutely petty and make Claire pay?
David saw the look on my face the moment I walked into the kitchen.
“What happened?” he asked. “Did you find out who trashed our yard?”
“Oh, yeah. It was Adam’s birthday party,” I muttered.
“Isn’t he, like, sixteen?” David asked, raising an eyebrow while making me a cup of tea.
“Exactly,” I huffed, grabbing a biscuit. “Oh, and let’s not forget the empty beer bottles everywhere. Underage drinking!”
David let out a short laugh. “Every teenager tries it at least once, Cami,” he said. “But you could use that as leverage, right? Scare the kid a little?”
I nodded slowly. “Maybe. But Claire needs to feel something too. She told me I should just hose everything down and move on.”
We sipped our tea in silence while I tried to figure out what to do.
Okay, Camilla. Be reasonable first.
I grabbed a notepad and wrote three simple rules:
- If you use something, clean it and put it back.
- Respect my property.
- Clean up after your child.
The next morning, I walked over and handed the note to Claire. I expected her to be mature about it.
I was wrong.
The Rules War
The following morning, I woke up to find a list taped to my front door.
It was Claire’s rules.
For my house.
I nearly choked on my coffee as I read it:
Claire’s Rules:
- No grilling past 7 PM. The smell keeps me awake.
- No spicy seasonings. My son doesn’t like the smell.
- If I’m using the grill, stay inside. I don’t like being watched while I cook.
- Notify me before grilling so I know who’s using it.
- Your garden hose is for community use. I might need it.
- Patio furniture is for everyone.
- Mow my lawn when you mow yours. It looks better that way.
- Be patient if my son leaves trash in your yard. Kids will be kids.
- I might use your driveway for extra parking when needed.
I read it twice, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
This woman seriously thought she had claimed my backyard as her personal kingdom.
Just then, my daughter Olivia ran up to me, phone in hand.
“Mom, you need to see this,” she said.
She showed me a video.
Claire’s son, Adam, had been posting TikTok videos.
From our backyard.
In the clips, he and his friends laughed about using our space like it was their personal hangout. And then they trashed the place. On camera.
Oh. Oh.
The Fallout
I grabbed my phone and started filming everything—the mess, the grill, the ridiculous list Claire had taped to my door.
Then I posted it online with a caption:
Glad my neighbor and her kid enjoy my backyard more than I do! Check out the rules she gave me!
Three days later, the video had 5 million views.
People in the comments were furious:
Excuse me?! Her rules?! For YOUR house?!
Put up a fence ASAP. These people are insane.
Tell me you have an entitled neighbor without telling me you have an entitled neighbor.
Then someone offered to help.
A man in the comments specialized in building fences. By the end of the week, my backyard was sealed off tighter than Fort Knox.
Claire lost her free access.
No more “Oops, my son needed a place to hang out!”
No more “I just needed to wash my car real quick!”
She noticed immediately.
She stormed over, pounding on my door with a wooden spoon.
“You’re breaking my rules!” she shrieked.
I sipped my coffee. “Oh, sorry. Since we have different house rules, I figured it was best we keep things separate.”
She fumed.
The Unexpected Ending
Two days later, Adam knocked on my door.
“Ma’am, please,” he muttered. “You’re ruining my life. Everyone at school knows what I did. They won’t let me live it down.”
I tilted my head. “Actions have consequences, Adam. You should have just cleaned up.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
I sighed. “Okay. I’ll delete the videos. But learn from this.”
That night, I stepped outside and saw Claire, cigarette in hand, looking… defeated.
“You win,” she muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize this was a competition.”
She sighed. “Yeah. I get that now.”
I nodded. “Good.”
And with that, I walked back inside, leaving Claire in the dark.
