Fifty-three and over. Even that. So presumptuous. What was wrong with 55 and over, like every other development in Lakewood?

In the very first hour of her very first day at 107 Wimbledon Loop, Shaindy Brucker broke a rule. Not a major rule, she would find out, but a rule just the same.

She was informed of the violation via text message, the language polite and aloof. To be clear, residents are assigned two parking spots per unit. All other vehicles should be parked in Parking Lot A near the main entrance. We’re sorry for the inconvenience but Alameda Gardens runs on respect and convenience for ALL residents, and respecting the rules creates a more pleasant experience for all of us. Thank you.

Shaindy grimaced, first at the fact that the text used the word “respect” twice in a single sentence. It also wasn’t fair because she had just moved in and her children were just there to help her unpack, not to move in forever or anything, and calm down people, we’ve only been here for ten minutes.

She showed the text to Chaim, who had to take out his other glasses to read it, which annoyed her because it set expectations higher. He skimmed it and shrugged and finally said, “Nu, nu,” and got back to work admiring the way his entire Shas looked on one shelf, something he’d never been able to do in Brooklyn, where the room had been too narrow for a full-sized seforim shrank.

Brooklyn had rules. Alternate side parking and garbage pickup and such. But Lakewood was supposed to be the land of the free, with space and permits and parking and so, so many eineklach, no?

Maybe not in Alameda Gardens, where they had been “incredibly lucky” to get a house on the last available block. She didn’t know which of her new neighbors could have had her number, though. The text wasn’t signed and it came from an unfamiliar number, so it might have been a well-meaning neighbor or some kind of neighborhood association. She’d given in her phone number, of course, back when they were applying and filling out all the paperwork — so much paperwork it was like trying to get a child into school, so many details, so many trick questions. The sweet, eager sales agent explained it earnestly, how Alameda was meant to be for a certain “type” and it was important to do it right, so maybe there was some kind of head counselor who drove around the development texting rule-breakers. Or maybe it was a drone flying overhead, spotting an infraction and acting instantly.

“The keys?” Chaim asked, and she could tell from his voice that he’d already asked the question at least once.

“Oh, I think it’s not our car that’s offending them, it’s one of the kids’. And they can relax. The neighbors whose spot we’re taking now haven’t even moved in yet, it’s fine.”

Chaim nodded absently. “Everyone’s relaxed, everyone’s relaxed Shaindy, don’t worry,” he said and tried fitting a tall volume of Shulchan Aruch into the bookcase.

“Good,” Shaindy said. “We don’t want to make trouble, chas v’shalom, the day we move in. Because the type is sooo important,”  she modulated her voice perfectly. “Alameda is for well-behaved 53 and overs. We don’t want to rock the boat.”