Last spring, I found interest from some of my neighbors to start a garden club in our neighborhood. They asked that I start one—
I started the ball rolling. Long story short, the management company would not return my phone calls, nor my emails, where I asked the procedure to start the club. The “little girl” whom I contacted, and I met at the New Year’s Eve party this past December. I approached her, asking why she didn’t return my calls, nor my emails. She lied, nervously stating that she “never got them.” I responded, “That’s funny since there were return receipts on my emails when you opened them, and I left phone messages on your direct line.”
Meanwhile, “Joanie,” the neighbor (also known as “The Gym Teacher:), who runs practically every activity in this neighborhood, got a garden club started, and now there is a neighborhood clean-up day sponsored by the club on April 22.
I knew – I just knew it – that if you aren’t in “Joanie’s” clique, you ain’t nobody, no how.
And last year, when I told this to “Joanie,” she said “there wasn’t a clique here.”
©2022 Colcannon Metropolis, excerpt from “Postcards from The Ridge”