My Short-Term Neighbors

To the editor: Most of the neighbors on my street have disappeared. In the winter, it’s downright eerie. Technically, I suppose I still have neighbors, hundreds of them, we just don’t know each other. They are my short-term neighbors…

My short-term neighbors typically arrive on weekends, stocked to the nines with COSCO bags full of groceries, hard and soft beverages in every variety. All of it meant to last for the duration. I hear them over the fence complaining about the outrageous cost of everything on Nantucket. I hear, “At least the beaches and beer pong are free."

They mock you when you ask them to shut the party down so that you won’t have to call the police. They mock you when you plead that you have to work in the morning, they mock you when you tell them a household member is recovering from major surgery, they mock you when you ask them to douse the flames sparking on your trees from a raging fire pit on a windy night.

Short-term neighbors don’t like to be interfered with, they paid a lot of money to be short-term neighbors, they have bought themselves a good time, and they don’t want any interference.

Early on in the season last year, the police were challenged gaining entrance to the “rager” next door. It appeared that the revelers couldn’t hear the officers repeatedly pounding on the door. They were concerned enough to call for a backup car. A shameful utilization of our hard-working police force. The next morning my short-term neighbors sent a clear message to me. My mailbox was stuffed with crushed beer cans and go-cups.

Please vote no on Article 59.

Please don’t settle – you don’t have to!

Your mailbox could be next.

Patsy Wright