Twelve hours in scrubs, aching feet, and a bus ride filled with her screeching kids had me teetering on the edge. When she stormed the lobby again and demanded I leave the elevator for her stroller, I stood my ground. The moment I said “No,” the power dynamic shifted. I called her out—reminded her of what she did to my grandfather—and let the elevator doors close with her still on the outside. But it didn’t end there.
I posted the footage online. No caption, just the truth. The building lit up. Story after story poured in, and her reign of entitlement began to unravel. By Monday, she was a different person—quieter, humbled, even respectful. No dramatic showdowns, no apologies. Just a subtle acknowledgment that things had changed. And for the first time in a long while, our building finally felt like home again.