The neighbors see me walking up and down the streets, five
miles every day, more than the local sheriff drives around here. I sure couldn’t have done this year round in
New Hampshire. The neighbors tell me I
should join the Neighborhood Watch.
I still haven’t joined.
Mind you, I don’t have anything against Neighborhood Watches. They’re
great. They give the neighbors something to do, they sometimes throw parties
with pizza and guest speakers (e.g., local sheriff), they protect your home from
vandals, and sometimes they give you a nice banner to hang out front—like the
fire brigade signs that told colonial volunteers that a house was “insured.”
But, I figure, if I see a truck pull up to my neighbor’s
house and start uploading electronics, I’ll speak up about it. Or if a nice, buff young man with a Vermont
license plate and a business logo on his truck moves into the rental property
next door, I’ll go over and introduce myself.
With homemade cookies. The Neighborhood
Watch lady across the street, somehow taking him to be a squatter, instead calls
the cops. Another Neighborhood Watch lady took it upon herself to swat our lawn
guy’s truck with a rolled-up newspaper, perhaps thinking this might compel him
to move it. When she escalated to
threatening him with the cops, he pulled out his badge and calmly pointed out,
“I AM the cops, ma’am.” Like everything else, too much of a good thing can come
back to bite you.
While walking around the neighborhood, I wave. This is
almost always a good thing. Oncoming cars usually pull politely out of your way
when you’re walking. I think these cars
deserve a thank-you wave.
