“I Refused to Lend My Neighbor My Tools. Now I’m the ‘Selfish One’ on the Cul-de-Sac.”

I live in a quiet neighborhood just off Maplecrest, the kind with mailboxes you repaint every three years, garage sales that double as gossip sessions, and neighbors who get very opinionated about leaf bag placement.

 

Last fall, after that freak October windstorm, a huge tree limb came down across my back fence. I had just pulled into the driveway with my arms full of groceries and a rotisserie chicken from Meijer when Randy, my next-door neighbor, came strolling over with a chainsaw and a story about how “storms like this are nature’s way of sorting out the weak fences.”

 

He cut up the branch while I scrambled to move my grill. When I offered to pay him back, he waved it off and said, “I’m already out here. Don’t worry about it.” A few days later, I gave him a tray of brownies and my wife brought him chili in one of our good thermoses. We felt like we had squared up.

 

Fast forward to last weekend.

 

I was prepping for a small deck repair project. Just a couple of warped boards and a loose railing. I had already picked up everything from Lowe’s off Maysville and was outside checking measurements with my earbuds in, half-listening to Kayla Blakeslee on WOWO talk about school board drama, when Randy popped up on my driveway like a sitcom entrance.

 

“Hey,” he said. “You got that power drill and that big aluminum ladder, right? I need to clear the gutters before my daughter’s open house.”

I told him, “Actually, I’m using both this weekend. Working on the deck.”

 

He blinked, stepped back like I had insulted his dog, then said, “Huh. Thought we were neighborly. After that storm cleanup last year, I figured we had each other’s backs.”

 

Now I’m not one for confrontation, especially not before coffee, but I reminded him that he had insisted he didn’t need anything in return. His only reply was, “Sure, sure. I guess some people forget.”

 

The next morning, someone mysteriously mowed the narrow grass strip between our houses. Just that strip. Very short. Uneven. And full of passive-aggressive intention.

 

Later that afternoon, I saw his wife post in the neighborhood Facebook group:

 

“Some people talk about community. Some of us actually show up for it. 🍂”

 

The post was accompanied by a photo of Randy holding a leaf blower like it was a trophy. A few neighbors liked it. I didn’t. But I noticed.

Since then, things have gotten weirder.

 

My recycling bin was mysteriously dragged to the wrong side of my driveway. The sprinkler mysteriously turned off mid-cycle while I was out. And I swear Randy polished his entire set of socket wrenches on his front porch while I was grilling, just so I’d notice them gleaming in the sun like chrome guilt.

 

My daughter told me Randy’s grandson called me “Tool Shed Terry” at the bus stop. My name is Greg.

 

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So Fort Wayne, You Tell Me:

 

• Was I wrong for setting a boundary?

• Do I owe Randy unlimited tool access for a chainsaw favor from 10 months ago?

• Or is this just classic cul-de-sac politics with a side of passive lawn care?

 

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