The first time I noticed the camera peeking over our shared fence, I nearly dropped my watering can. There it was – a sleek black eye watching me tend to my tomatoes in what I thought was the privacy of my own backyard. My new neighbors, Carla and Frank, had crossed a line.
I confronted them immediately, still in my gardening clothes. Their excuse about “security” rang hollow when the lens pointed directly at my patio. Legal action would’ve been expensive and drawn-out, so I turned to creativity instead. With help from three artistic friends, we staged the most bizarre backyard performance our quiet street had ever seen.
For weeks, we planned our revenge spectacle. Samantha, our drama queen, perfected her death scene with ketchup blood. Miguel sourced ridiculous costumes from a community theater. Harriet crafted absurd dialogue that sounded suspicious out of context. We became method actors in our own private soap opera, playing to an audience of one – that intrusive camera.
The day we “murdered” Samantha in broad daylight, we didn’t expect the police to actually show up. But when flashing lights appeared, our pretend crime scene suddenly felt very real. The officers’ confusion turned to concern when we revealed the surveillance setup next door. Watching Carla and Frank’s shocked faces as their camera got confiscated was almost worth the invasion of privacy.
In the end, they moved away quietly. Now when I garden, I sometimes wave at their replacements – a nice young couple who keep to themselves. And if I ever feel like performing again? Well, my backyard theater is always open for business.
