Dottie

She was the nosy busybody that pestered everyone to keep our patios neat, to not store paper bags in the utility closet, to not keep big wads of plastic bags at all, and to clean our fridges.

She knew where everyone lived and what we did, who our children were, what our schedules were, what cars we drove and where we liked to park them.

She didn't tolerate noise. At all.

She cared how well my carpet was installed and how badly the maintenance guy fixed my sink. She insisted on doing all the small tasks so that they wouldn't become big ones. She found it distressing that I seldom asked for anything to be fixed.

She provided replacement light bulbs and grease pans for free.

Our patio doors have three separate locking mechanisms, all of them in good working order.

Every month when the exterminators came, and maintenance replaced the AC filters and tested the fire alarms, she personally escorted them into every apartment.

She once caught a party in our swimming pool who were from the apartment complex across the street. They don't have a pool. She locked them in and had them arrested.

She stopped random passersby from putting their garbage into our dumpsters.

She stood up to loiterers and roaming thugs. They learned to run away when they saw her.

She was a dear, sweet little old lady. People moved here from the last place she managed, just to be with her. Our neighborhood was an oasis of safety in an area with frequent violent crime. Now she's retired and gone, and my reasons for wanting to live here are much diminished.