Won't You Be My Neighbor?

(Due to technical difficulties, among other excuses, clatter has been unable to post until now. While this is not a particularly timely piece, I would still like to apologize for leaving you hanging for two weeks. Please take comfort in the fact that the problem has been rectified. I thank you for your patience.)

When I moved into my apartment complex seven months ago, I had visions of Melrose Place. Perhaps not as dramatic, with the expected backstabbing, illicit love affairs, and occasional dead body in the pool, but I was still hoping for a little something to spice up the home life. Like in every family, every neighbor has his or her secrets. I have aspired to pick up on some nuggets around the complex, not by doing anything illegal of course, but by just keeping my eyes and ears open. Despite my fervent efforts, however, it appears I have come up severely short: there has been zero drama, no good material, no brow raisers, no crazy stories. What I think might be the most disappointing part about all of this is that the cast of characters has such potential. As I see it, it’s practically a crime not to capitalize on what could be something so shamefully delicious, a person would only crack under the pressures of a lie detector test to admit watching it (bonus points for anyone who got that Seinfeld reference). I know very little about my neighbors, but please consider some of our characters:

-The onsite managers. They are a very nice married couple in their 20s who are always at their tenants’ beck and call. He, an extremely talkative guy who swears he has ADD despite what his doctors tell him, holds down multiple jobs and wears a bluetooth constantly. I’ve struck up conversations with him not realizing he was already talking to someone else, which can be a little awkward. She is a nanny and wants to set me up with her brother. They’re such good people, they must have a dark side.

-The cute doctor downstairs. I suspect he’s the bad boy in disguise – one who may have excellent bedside manner, but he just isn’t quite what meets the eye. On occasion, he has been spotted lurking about the complex, smoking a cigarette. One night while walking past his kitchen window, I noticed an obscene amount of beer bottles on his counter. I’ll take this to mean he has a serious drinking problem, because he's more interesting that way.

-The Passat-driving guy who lives across the hall. He walks with a certain spring in his step, but his face reads, “I’ll only acknowledge that you’re my neighbor with a slight nod because I’m too cool to talk to you.” He whistles in the shower (get your mind out of the gutter - I only know this because he sometimes leaves his bathroom window open). He also places his shoes in such perfect order outside his front door that I’m convinced he must have some form of obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m sure the doc downstairs would concur.

-The wacky, “your music is too loud” nurse below me. Sadly this 35ish year old, orthopedic shoe-wearing woman recently moved out, being replaced by an older woman. I think the nurse would have made one great character, even in spite her horrible taste in fashion - she just seemed so...bizarre. I know nothing about the new lady, but she’s got to have issues. Major issues.

-The gym fanatic. She’s young, she’s hot, and she’s got that certain look that has the guys (the cute doctor, no doubt) doing the head-to-toe stare down. I’m sure she wears something other than spandex and tank tops, but I have yet to see it.

-The quiet girl across the courtyard. She’s a pretty, tall brunette, but I’ve never heard her speak a word. I assume she’s the craziest of them all because she looks so darn normal.

-The girl in the upstairs apartment who spends a lot of time in her kitchen.

Hm, “the girl in the upstairs apartment who spends a lot of time in her kitchen”…. That girl is the author of this blog, right? Wrong. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve noticed that a 20-something year old girl in the apartment across the courtyard that mirrors mine is often in her kitchen when I’m in mine, which as you may have suspected by this point, is quite often. One rainy Sunday afternoon recently, I was in my kitchen per usual, baking a batch of chewy white chocolate chip cookies and simmering ragu bolognese on the stove. Glancing out my window, I saw my neighbor in her kitchen, busy at work on something. I didn’t think much of it until I returned to my kitchen hours later to check on the ragu and heard chopping from my window. There she was again, still working on something. I’ll admit that for a split second I actually questioned whether what I was witnessing was merely my own reflection in the window…until I realized how ridiculous that was.

My curious mind began to run amok: What the heck was she doing in there all day? What was she making? Was she a better cook than me? Would it be possible to have an Iron Chef-like competition from our respective kitchens? Watching her busy in her kitchen, I suddenly began to feel threatened (and maybe slightly creepy) – was my neighbor trying to dethrone me as "the girl in the complex who spends the most time in the kitchen"? Of course I have no way of knowing if I have really logged the most hours amongst my neighbors, but I’d venture to guess that I have indeed earned that status. Either way, once those initial competitive feelings subsided, I decided I mostly just wanted to know what my fellow neighbor was up to. In true Nancy Drew form, I soon found myself with my nose against the open window, hoping to get a whiff of whatever was cooking across the way; I figured that with both of our kitchen windows open, my keen sense of smell might come through for me. Was that sauteed onions? Sniff sniff. Hm maybe some roasted tomatoes? Then my ears perked up as some pans clattered and then the girl uttered the word “salsa” and then “marinara sauce” to her male guest. Ah ha, that’s it! She was spending all day in the kitchen because she probably had a vat of summer tomatoes! Maybe Nancy really can solve mysteries without the help of Bess and George (and she might disagree, but I always thought Ned was kind of worthless.)

Unearthing what my neighbors are cooking in their kitchens may not be the kind of drama that I’ve been hoping for, and perhaps my living arrangement hasn’t quite lived up to my wild expectations of Melrose Place meets Grey’s Anatomy (the complex's close proximity to the hospital makes this an obvious choice), with small doses of Ally McBeal, Top Chef, and Veronica Mars thrown in to make my own role more prevalent. But even so, here’s the good news: I’ve still got five months left on the lease. There’s plenty of time for things to heat up….in or out of the kitchen.