The-Zoning-Complaint-Spin-Game

Every day in the office is different. You walk in with a clear agenda. Driving to work, you organize and prioritize the work that needs doing today. You outline your daily goals. By the time you sit at your desk, java in the mug next to the phone, your day is prepared. You have laid your mental spreadsheet out before you. You sip your coffee. You're ready.

Then the phone rings.

You begin to spin ever-so slowly, nothing to be worried about, you've been in this spin before. You can handle it. It's only Mrs. Gigliotti from 4th street.
"What can I do for you today, Mrs. Gigliotti?" you ask. You grab a pencil and a notepad.
"Everyone calls me Mrs. G", she replies.
"Yes, Mrs. Gigliotti, how may I be of service today?" A small smile creeps onto your face.

Her first complaint is about a small inflatable swimming pool in her neighbors yard. Shouldn't they need a fence? Someone told Mrs. G if the water level is deeper than 20 inches, a fence is required. You wonder who that someone is. You look at the weather channel temperature on your desktop. It is 30 degrees outside. You imagine happy little 3rd graders ice skating on the surface of the little pool.

Her second complaint is about a rear-yard fence on 5th street. It is leaning into the alley. She is afraid it will fall over onto children playing in the alley. You try to calculate the chance of this happening: height of fence x degree of lean/condition of posts x width of alley/percent chance children present in the alley/ percent chance of specific hour in a day when fence would fall= percent chance fence will land on the head of a small child. You realize you forgot to include wind speed.

You promise to investigate her complaints as soon as time allows. The phone call has now struck the 25 minute mark. The spin quickens and you think you can feel it now. You return to the first paragraph of your letter.

The Town secretary steps into your office. "There is a someone here to see you." Could it be the same someone? Of course not. This is a different someone. This is the doggie-poo man. He sits down across from you, a young man, possibly in his early thirties, well-groomed, immaculately dressed. He looks like a concierge or a tie salesman.

"I really don't want to complain, but my neighbor is not cleaning up after their 6 dogs. Now the snow is melting and the dog dirt has liquefied and is running under my fence into my yard." he tells you. He also tells you that he owns two dogs of his own. He also tells you he has made a complaint to the police department. He then hands you an envelope stuffed with photographs. He has pictures. Pictures of brown liquid running under a fence and down a walkway. This is his backyard. This is the brown dog-poopy water. This is your head spinning faster and faster.

Mr. doggie-poo is very upset. He is mad as hell and not going to take it any more. Your mind wanders as he describes the minutiae of life with an uncaring neighbor. You are in front of the judge. "Your Honor, I would now like to call to the stand Dr. Chow, an expert in canine DNA testing."

You bring the meeting to a conclusion, walking the complainant to the front door. You promise to write a letter, as soon as you are finished with a few higher priorities: forcing a slumlord to provide heat for his tenants; issuing a Notice of Violation to the tattoo parlor that opened for business without any permits; and also, there is this fence in the alley behind 5th street that may fall over at any second, crushing Mrs. Thompson's entire 3rd grade class.

You are now spinning quite nicely, reflecting sunlight at every turn. You decide to leave the office and head for the streets and alleys. You see violations at every turn- house alterations, unlicensed cars in back yards, little illegal swimming pools everywhere, and every fence is about to fall over into the alley. Spin! Spin! Spin!

You return to the office. The phone rings. It is your darling wife. "Honey", she says, "can we get a dog?"