Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Several years ago, someone came up with the idea of having a way for people in a self-defined neighborhood to talk to one another through the miracle of technology. Share ideas. Find lost dogs. Help find a handyman.

The idea — called Next Door — indeed, helps find lost dogs, encourages shared ideas, provides suggestions for the world’s best handymen. Mostly, however, it appears to provide a platform for bitching and complaining. And further proof that we like nothing better than pointing fingers at what others are doing wrong.

I thought it was just in my Denver neighborhood Next Door. But when we arrived at our AZ home, it became clear that the Next Door platform is pretty much the same everywhere. By the way, I have not found a way to be on Next Door at both homes. It appears to be one or the other. I don’t really care about Denver dogs pooping in my yard when I’m in Mesa, AZ. Nor do I care about empty grocery shelves at my nearby Mesa grocery stores when I’m in Denver, CO. I’m certain my inability to be on both neighborhoods’ Next Door is because of something I’m doing wrong, but that doesn’t matter because I can’t change it. Maybe I should complain on Next Door.

Did any of you know how many times guns were blasting in your neighborhood? Apparently this is an every day event in my seemingly quiet Denver ‘hood. Gunfire occurs on nearly a daily basis, though the shots seem to be fired even more frequently around New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July. Weird.

This was an actual conversation that I read on my Denver Next Door on New Year’s Eve:

Person A: Did anyone hear those gunshots?

Person B: Those weren’t gunshots; those were fireworks.

Person A: No, I clearly heard rapid-fire gunshots just a few minutes ago.

Person B: Those were people shooting off firecrackers.

Person A: Nope. They were gunshots.

Person B: I thought the same thing, but I looked out my window and saw some teenagers setting off fireworks.

Person A: No, they were definitely gunshots.

Person B: I saw them with my own eyes.

Person A: Gunshots.

I stopped reading because the gunshots were giving me a headache.

This is not to say that there aren’t occasional gunfights at the OK Corral gun shots near Southmoor Park, but really People?

My sister Bec says that every Friday night at 8 o’clock, the party store down the street from her house sets off fireworks. Every single Friday night at 8 o’clock, someone posts on her Next Door Did anyone hear those gunshots?

Apparently Chandler, AZ, is every bit as dangerous as my Denver neighborhood.

The most recent complaints that I read on my Denver Next Door have to do with Chick-Fil-A. People are put off because the restaurant’s staff says, “My pleasure,” in answer to a customer’s thank you.

It’s like the Stepford Wives, said one complainer. Funny, Stepford Wives isn’t what comes to my mind when I hear my pleasure. Instead, what comes to my mind is courtesy and gentle kindness.

I wonder if people in neighborhoods with higher crime rates hear gunfire and immediately go on Next Door and write Did anyone else hear those firecrackers?

One thought on “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Comments are closed.