My Crazy Neighbor Wanted $1,500 For A Cardboard Box

On my very first day moving in, my neighbor across the hall tagged me in the building's Snapchat group. She demanded $1,500 in emotional distress damages.

And the source of this entire drama? A tiny, palmsized cardboard shipping box sitting near my door.

Holding this innocent little box, I marched over, knocked on her door, and tearfully recited its "Ten Deadly Sins."

The moment my performance ended, I instantly switched back to my cold, calm self.

"Hello, neighbor from Unit 1701. To ensure your mental and physical health as a pregnant woman, I have personally directed and performed this masterpiece for you: The Ten Deadly Sins."

"Now, please pay my fees. I'll need compensation for directing, scriptwriting, labor, props, acting, and most importantly—mental strain."

"That brings your total to $6,000. Deducting the $1,500 you claimed for 'emotional distress,' you still owe me $4,500. How would you like to pay?"

I had just moved into my new apartment, only to find out my new neighbor was an entitled, psychotic pregnant woman.

On day one, I saw her tagging me in the building's Snapchat group.

Unit 1703, you deliberately left your trash by your door during your move last night. It caused me to trip and get hurt. This has seriously impacted my daily life.

I am pregnant. You need to pay for my Uber to the hospital, my medical bills, local anesthesia, and a tetanus shot.

Oh, and emotional distress damages.

The total is $1,500. Venmo me now if you want to settle this.

I read the three messages from Unit 1701 five times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

I even scanned the Venmo QR code she attached to make sure it was a real payment link, not some weird, friendly welcome joke from a neighbor.

Wow. Brenda from Unit 1701 wasn't joking.

She was actually trying to scam me!

I quickly ran to my front door, opened it, and stared at the tiny cardboard box sitting in the corner.

"You? You don't even have sharp corners. How did you give a pregnant woman tetanus?"

"You? A little box that can be crushed with one light step, and you caused her enough 'mental trauma' to demand $1,500?"

I picked up the box, put on my best dramatic face, and knocked on Brenda's door.

The door opened, revealing the pregnant woman I had briefly seen during my move a couple of days ago.

She looked about four months pregnant, barely showing.

Seeing it was me, a smug smile spread across her face.

One of her hands gently caressed her belly, while the other pulled out her phone.

"Ah, Unit 1703. Are you here to apologize? I don't need your cheap words. “

“If apologies worked, we wouldn't need the police! Come on, scan the code. Let's get this over with. $1,500, not a single penny less!"

Staring at the Venmo code on her screen, my face instantly fell into an expression of deep, tragic grief.

"This cardboard box is truly evil! It has committed unforgivable crimes!"

"Sin number one: A shipping box should be in the recycling bin, not outside Unit 1703!"

"Sin number two: This box took up one percent of the hallway, a blatant waste of public space!"

"Sin number nine: Leaving a box outside caused our neighbor immense eye strain, inflicting a critical hit to her mental health and leaving her state of mind in absolute tatters!"

"And finally, the tenth and most severe sin: This box caused Brenda from Unit 1701 such 'severe injuries' that if I hadn't rushed over to apologize right now, her invisible wounds would have already healed!"

My speech started with a mockserious "analysis of the crime scene" and ended with pure, dripping sarcasm. Brenda's face grew uglier by the second.

With the list of sins completed, it was time to wrap up the show.

The dramatic grief vanished from my face. I instantly flashed her a warm, professional smile.

"Hello, Brenda. To ensure your mental and physical health as a pregnant woman, I have personally directed and performed this masterpiece for you: The Ten Deadly Sins."

"Now, please pay my fees. I'll need compensation for directing, scriptwriting, labor, props, acting, and most importantly—mental strain."

Without missing a beat, I pulled out my phone, opened my PayPal, and tapped her screen right under her shocked gaze. I typed in "$5,000" on the payment request screen.

"That brings your total to $6,000. Deducting the $1,500 you claimed for 'emotional distress,' you still owe me $4,500. How would you like to pay?"

"This is fraud! This is extortion! I'm calling the cops on you!"

Brenda shrieked, spit flying from her mouth.

She looked ready to throw me in jail himself.

I quickly took two steps back to avoid her flying saliva.

Then, blinking innocently, I pulled my professional credentials out of my pocket.

"I've been a professional director and writer for eighteen years. I've worked on multiple hit TV shows. My rates are industrystandard and completely transparent."

"Or are you saying, Grandma, that you watched my show but don't want to pay? That's not very nice. It's only $4,500. Why make life hard for a poor creative? Just pay up!"

The moment I called her "Grandma," her face turned bright red with rage.

"Who are you calling Grandma?! You little bitch! How dare you disrespect me! You better pay my medical bills and emotional distress fees right now, or I will make your life a living hell!"

"Oh, Grandma, I know I'm pretty, but you don't need to keep complimenting me. I'm already very satisfied with my looks!"

"You shameless whore! Do you have any idea who my husband is?! How dare you speak to me like that! Now, even if you give me $1,500, it won't be enough. The price just went up. I want $10,000!"

This crazy woman was truly something else. Ten thousand dollars? Did she think her brain was made of solid gold?

Before I could even retort, Brenda suddenly gasped, clutched her stomach, and slid down to sit on the floor.

She started wailing at the top of her lungs, holding up her phone to record my face. She immediately began uploading videos to the building's Snapchat group, screaming that I was abusing a pregnant woman.

Without hesitating, I copied her. I dropped my butt right onto the floor and started crying even louder than she was.

Brenda froze, looking at me in utter disbelief. "What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?!"

I wailed at the top of my lungs, my voice dripping with exaggerated agony. "It's my first day in my new home, and my neighbor is maliciously framing and extorting me!"

"I am not! Get up! Stop lying!"

"Sob... my life is so hard! On my very first day, my delusional neighbor claims my innocent cardboard box came to life, and now she's extorting me for $10,000 over a scratch that's already healed! I'm so miserable!"

"You're lying! You left stuff in the hallway and hurt me!"

I stopped crying in a split second and looked at her coldly.

I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app.

Thank God I was a paranoid person. The very first thing I did when I moved in was install a smart peephole camera on my door.

Brenda's eyes darted around nervously. She began to stutter.

"Hhow do I know that video isn't Photoshopped?!"

"Doesn't matter. I already called the cops anyway. Let's just wait for them to get here!"

"Ugh, why bother the police over something so minor? I... I probably got it wrong. Maybe it wasn't your box. Maybe it was Unit 1702's. Yeah, 1702. Forget it, whatever."

With a loud SLAM, Brenda's door shut in my face.

I looked down at the fake 911 call screen on my phone, dusted off my pants, and hummed a little tune as I went back inside.

To deal with a shameless parasite, you have to be even more shameless than they are!

Once inside, I saw a message from the former tenant of my apartment, Ashley.

Hey babe, I saw the video Brenda posted in the Snapchat group. She's the exact reason I moved out of that place. Be careful, try to avoid her. I heard her family has some serious connections!

I thanked Ashley for her sweet warning, but in my mind, I was plotting.

Connections? Perfect. I loved exposing people with "connections."

If things went south and I had to report them, maybe I'd even get a civic medal!

A week later, most of my furniture was unpacked, so I brought my kitten to the new place.

Just as I let the cat out of her carrier, my phone rang—it was a delivery guy. I left the door slightly ajar and ran downstairs to grab my package.

But when I returned less than thirty minutes later, my kitten was breathing heavily. Suddenly, she started foaming at the mouth and collapsed on the floor!

By the time I rushed her to the vet, she had already stopped breathing.

The vet said she might have ingested grapes, causing acute kidney failure. But I knew for a fact there were no grapes in my apartment.

And during the move, she had been right by my side the entire time. There was no way she could have eaten anything bad!

The only gap in time was the five minutes I went downstairs to grab my package.

After laying my sweet kitten to rest, I rushed home and checked my security camera footage.

Unsurprisingly, it was that brainless, vengeful pregnant woman from Unit 1701!

The moment I stepped into the elevator, she had sneaked over, holding two grapes, and slipped into my apartment.

A few seconds later, she crept back out, carefully pulling my door shut to make it look untouched.

Because she lost our first little battle, she decided to sneak in and murder my cat!

That kitten was a graduation gift from my mom.

I had cherished her for two years, loving her like family.

And this monster killed an innocent soul just to get back at me!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I slammed on her door violently. It took a long time before Brenda finally opened it, wrapping her robe around herself with a smug, selfsatisfied look on her face.

"What the hell are you screaming about now—"

Before she could finish her sentence, I threw a bucket of foul, stinking black blood right over her head.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Brenda shrieked like a banshee.

"You psycho! What did you do?! Ahhhh! My face! My hair! Gag..."