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The Municipal Notice That Developed a Personality
A bureaucratic notice on a residential gate slowly becomes the most opinionated member of the housing society.
The notice appeared on Tuesday morning, laminated with the solemnity usually reserved for election results and missing-dog posters.
NOTICE.
It informed residents that bicycles, flowerpots, footwear, umbrellas, scooters, delivery boxes, and “other articles of miscellaneous domestic character” must not be kept in the corridor.
By Wednesday, someone had written underneath it in blue pen:
WHAT ABOUT CHILDREN?
By Thursday, another hand replied:
CHILDREN ARE NOT ARTICLES.
Friday brought:
DEPENDS.
The security guard removed the replies every evening. The replies returned every morning.
Soon the notice acquired annotations.
“Please define corridor.”
“Please define flowerpot.”
“Does one shoe constitute footwear?”
“Can footwear be temporarily classified as corridor furniture?”
Someone drew an arrow pointing to the word “must” and wrote: “Strong language.”
The secretary called an emergency meeting.
Forty-two residents attended. Nobody discussed the bicycles.
For ninety minutes they debated whether the notice itself was hostile.
Mrs. D’Souza said the wording lacked warmth.
Mr. Mehta said notices were not supposed to have warmth.
Mr. Mehta’s wife reminded him that this was exactly why people found him difficult.
At 8:47 p.m., the secretary announced that a revised notice would be prepared.
The next morning, the old notice had disappeared.
In its place was a handwritten sheet:
DEAR RESIDENTS,
KINDLY KEEP THE CORRIDOR CLEAR.
THANK YOU.
Underneath, in smaller handwriting:
This one is nicer.
The bicycles remained.
Nobody complained.
The building had finally reached a compromise with itself.