The kindness of neighbors

With spring around the corner and change in the air, I've been hankering for some additions to my tired old wardrobe. I'm not a big shopper per se, mostly due to the crowds in New York - not to mention the prices. Truthfully, though, a lot of whether or not I'm in the mood to shop depends on how I'm feeling about myself - and after what seems like eons of winter and all the pounds that come along with it, I haven't felt that great. Because I've been loathe to go shopping in person (mostly due to the dreaded dressing-room mirror and your normal size not fitting so nicely anymore) I bit the bullet and did what I used to do all the time up until a few years ago: I ordered clothes online. A lot of clothes online.

I directed the orders to be delivered to my home. Even though I'm never there when the UPS man comes, one of my friendly neighbors usually signs for any packages and holds onto them for me.

A little about my building: I've lived there roughly 30 of my 36 years. I grew up in this building and while many tenants have come and gone in that time, there are still a handful of residents who have been there as long as I, if not longer. They saw me grow up, I used to babysit for their kids and feed their cats while they were away, and they're generally very warm, kind, and familial. I'm lucky to have grown up in this atmosphere, considering the other alternatives in this city, and I have to remind myself not to take it for granted.

So one of the lovely residents (whose daughter I used to babysit and is now getting married before I am) signed for two of my packages on Wednesday.

When I knocked on his door after work, there was no answer. When he came down with the packages later that night, I was asleep and couldn't hear the doorbell ring. He left me a message on my cell telling me I could stop by before work the next morning. Nice neighbor, right? Little did he know that I leave between 5:45 and 6:45 in the morning, so I thought it best not to take him up on this offer.

Instead I stopped at home later that afternoon and tried his door again. Not home.

Not wanting to incovenience him further, I left him a note taped to his door saying, "Thanks for signing for this stuff, I really appreciate it. As our schedules are out of synch, feel free to leave the packages in front of my door (or yours). Thanks."

When I got back to work later, there was a message on my cell from him saying he got my note, sorry he wasn't home, and he was leaving the packages in front of my door. He also said to give him a call if by any chance they weren't there when I got home. Again: nice, right?

I asked him to do this because my building is so generally safe and everyone seems to know each other. There are tons of families, and many of the kids hang out together. Granted, visitors and other sorts come and go, but the atmosphere in the building is safe and secure and helpful, so I tend to trust that nothing will happen.

So I got home late last night expecting to see my packages leaning against the door...and they weren't there. I looked inside to see if maybe my dad had been home and brought them in, but nothing.

I started panicking, as this was a couple hundred bucks that was now unaccounted for, not to mention clothes that I was hoping to wear over the weekend and bring my spirits up (I had already planned my outfits based on this, for Pete's sake).

I clung to the hope that maybe one of the neighbors' on my floor had taken the packages for safe-keeping in order to avoid anyone else taking them, but it was too late to start ringing doorbells. Also, wouldn't they leave a note saying this?

So in lieu of bell-ringing, I left notes taped to each of the three other doors on my floor asking if perhaps they had taken my packages, and if so would they mind letting me know...? Once I relized that this was the best I could do for the night, I took myself to bed.

I slowly started to fall asleep with images of masked bandits walking around with 2 packages full of bras, tops, and sweater-jackets, and was growing more and more outraged and violated when I started to realize that my image of this building as a mini-small-town-neighborhood was very wrong. I awoke to thoughts of how much things have changed since I was growing up here, and how New York must turn everyone into a thief and a liar.

This morning I woke early because the thoughts had worked themselves back into my head and there's no point trying to sleep when you think the whole world is against you and your ability to dress nicely. As I got ready for work, I decided that I would call the original neighbor (who had signed in the first place) later in the day and let him know what happened because a)maybe he had some answers and b)I was expecting ANOTHER package today!

The next step in the plan was to type up a simple, pointed note that I would post down in the lobby for everyone to read. It would read something like, "Yesterday 2 packages were taken from outside my door. Never in the 36 years of living in this building has this sort of thing happened. Please be careful with any valuable you leave outside of your apartments."

Then I was going to email the two companies from whom I ordered my clothes and explain the situation (hopefully more briefly than this post) and ask if there was anything they could do to help.

As I opened the door to leave for the day, I saw a note taped to my door. It said, "I do have your packages. I called your dad and left him a message saying so, so please stop by when you want them. Love, Jim."

Sweet jiminy. (Or Jim-iny). Jim is my neighbor across the hall who used to take me in whenever I'd get locked out of my apartment and my parents weren't home, and he'd always give me Dr. Pepper and we'd watch golf or "That's Incredible" together.

He did what I had hoped, and not only gave me back my property but also my faith in the people in our building.

Now if only my father would get his messages...