My penny-pinching neighbors expect me to be their free doorman

They say your youth officially ends the moment you open a utility bill and feel genuine horror creep down your spine. You're horrified, but you still drag yourself to pay it anyway.

Yep, that's exactly how it happened for me. My youth died about twenty years ago when I became the proud owner of my own condo. Since then, my life has been ruled by cold, hard facts. HOA fees go up every year. Our paychecks absolutely refuse to keep up. And there's nowhere to run — you gotta pay.

These facts push people to get creative. One friend of mine showers with a three-minute timer. When it beeps, she's out, no exceptions. She's trained her whole family to do the same. Another couple switched to a camping stove because their electric range was eating their budget alive. But honestly? I don't even need to look that far. The champions of extreme frugality live right here in my building.

We've got a small three-story building, four units per floor. And in about half of those units? No buzzer service. They all canceled it to save maybe fifteen bucks a month. Out of the whole building, only me and a couple of elderly ladies still have working buzzers. Everyone else just "makes it work."

And by "makes it work," I mean they trudge downstairs in their slippers to let guests in. Or they prop the front door open with a note taped to it: "Please don't close, expecting a delivery!" As if burglars and creeps can't read.

Me? I wasn't about to cancel my buzzer over pocket change. Running up and down stairs every time someone shows up? In January? No thank you.

For a while, everything was peaceful. But then the weird calls started. Suddenly my buzzer was ringing off the hook. "Post office!" "Building inspection!" "Delivery!" Except none of these people ever actually came to my door.

Then it clicked. My brilliant, budget-conscious neighbors had started telling their guests to buzz the apartments that still had service. Because why freeze your behind off walking downstairs when you can make someone else do it?

At first, I opened the door for everyone. Some sob story about a sick kid or an urgent package, and I'd hit that button like a trained seal. But eventually, I snapped. Why the heck should I play doorman for people too cheap to pay for their own buzzer?

My husband backed me up completely. "They're saving money by riding on our backs. Time to shut down this charity operation."

So now I only answer when I'm expecting someone. Friends text ahead. Deliveries have tracking numbers. Everything else? I let it ring. I don't care if they're leaning on that button for five straight minutes.

And guess what happened? My neighbors started coming at ME with complaints!

Last week I ran into Tammy from the second floor. She actually had the nerve to lecture me: "Why don't you answer your buzzer? My guests were standing outside in the cold!"

I kept my cool. "Oh, we probably weren't home."

"Your kitchen light was on," she shot back. "You were sitting right there ignoring it on purpose!"

Can you believe the audacity? She's scolding ME for not answering MY buzzer to let in HER guests!

I told her straight: "It's my buzzer. I'll answer it when I feel like it. Get your own if you don't like it."

Well, she absolutely lost it. Started yelling about how they were being "neighborly" and I was being "hostile" and she was going to "report" me. Report me to who? The Buzzer Police?

I almost died laughing right there in the hallway.

When I told my husband, he couldn't stop cackling. "Let her write to the mayor for all I care. Nobody gets to tell us what to do with our own buzzer. You know what? Maybe we should cancel ours too, just to spite them. Make them all walk downstairs for once."

Honestly? Not a bad idea.