Not long ago I enjoyed a cigar with one of my best friends and his new wife in the backyard behind their house. Large, airy, and lushly landscaped, this is the sort of place I hope to own someday. Backyards are at a premium here in Los Angeles, and to me they’re more important than the houses built around them. They can be shared with friends and family, or they can be intensely private places of tranquil meditation and uninterrupted reflection. If people elsewhere around the world take such open space for granted, here we consider it sacred and inviolable—a small, but personal plot held fast against the encroachment of a sprawling, noisy, and land-hungry city.
This particular backyard was, as I’ve said, pretty big by LA standards. Unfortunately, the view was “fenced in†on the west side by a neighbor’s addition to her home—an ugly, three-story guest house with a window overlooking my friend’s entire yard. Nevermind the fact that building a three-story structure is illegal in this part of the city; what was particularly onerous about this building was its violation of my friend’s privacy. In shape, form, rule-flouting design, and hostile spirit, this building pretty much embodied the neighbor herself. She, a 70-something widow, was notoriously paranoid, litigious (again, ironic, given that her guest house was in clear violation of building codes), angry, and conniving. She was always around, never left her house, and never ran out of excuses to harass or even sue her various neighbors.
And on this particular day, as we smoked in peace, or so we thought, we’d noticed her popping up every now and then from behind the curtain in that watchtower window. She’d appear for a few seconds, glower at us, then disappear. Eventually she thrust open the window and started shouting at us. She demanded that we extinguish our cigars, as the smoke was “choking her to death.â€
We complied, if only because she was old and because she was so lawsuit-happy; pressing the conflict just wasn’t worth the time and expense, even though my friend probably would have prevailed in court.
But part of me couldn’t help thinking that we were simply appeasing a madwoman. For one thing, there was basically no way that the smoke had drifted the 50-odd feet into the air, up toward her sealed window, and through it—an especially difficult feat given that the wind was blowing in a different direction. More likely than not, she had been spying on us and was simply looking to pick a fight, as is apparently her modus operandi. She and my friends hadn’t been getting along ever since they moved in next door, and this was one more complaint in her endless litany. She was bullying them, establishing dominance. If they didn’t challenge her this time, she probably figured, she could keep getting her way in the future.
The real question, however, is this: What would you have done in this situation? Have you been in such circumstances before? Does your neighbor have the right to complain about what goes on in the confines of your private property? And will such situations arise more frequently in the future, thus giving the anti-smoking lobby a proverbial invitation into our houses?
–Jon N
photo credit: Flickr