Age Restricted Community like Living in a Dorm

Any visitor would know I live in an age restricted community before they even rang my doorbell.

There are likely to be firetrucks and paramedics askew in the road with lights flashing. We have lots of folks in their 90's who really should be in assisted living. 

The buildings were built in the 1960's and all of the apartment doors open onto a two hundred foot long, dark, institutional hall that looks unchanged since it opened. 








Thank goodness our building doesn't have a lobby full of artificial plants and a questionable chair. (Too easy for bedbugs to be incubating there.) And some buildings have recessed doors that allow residents to "decorate" with tiny tables and seasonal kitsch. We're spared that too.









What our building does have is a narrow give-away shelf on the way to the laundry room. When people clean or move out they share household extras like trash cans and flower pots, and unopened food items. Once it was candy. I took the bag of Hershey miniature chocolates. Last week it was five packets of dry turkey gravy. There have been cookies and potato chips.  

Last night there were half a dozen packages of water-soluble fiber, oh so telling of a senior population. Bill and I joked about it on our way by. This morning he happened by again and told me there were only two left. For some reason we thought was really funny--probably because we didn't need it. 

Now I wonder, did one person take the other four, or were there several people who benefitted? Sometimes living here leads me down mental roads I really don't want to travel. 

It often feels like living in a dorm. I see the socks and underwear that got stuck in the washer and slung over a rack to be claimed. Sometimes I hear the man upstairs groaning. (I hope it's groaning.) I hear the feet of the dogs running past my door before they're leashed for their 5:30 am walk. 

On the upside I have found fellow music makers in the development.   Although the community center building has rooms that sit empty much of each day, they require a contract and rental fees.  So the banjo player, guitarist and I opted to jam in the living room. 

I sure hope no neighbor calls in a complaint to the community response office, since I'm already on record with them for another disagreement. 

This all reminds me of Jerry Seinfeld's parents' condo at Del Boca Vista.  Be sure to click on the link for a chuckle at homeowner association antics.