For the past two weeks, something strange kept happening every time I came home from work. A thick, neon-orange extension cord—so bright it looked like it belonged at a construction site—was trailing from my neighbor’s garage straight into the outdoor socket behind my house. The first time, I thought I was losing my mind.

Maybe he’d plugged into the wrong outlet by accident. Maybe he was in a hurry. Or maybe—just maybe—there was a reasonable explanation.So I did the polite thing: I unplugged it and didn’t say a word. But the second time? I walked into my garden and caught him mid-plug-in, crouched down like he owned the place.“Hey,” I said, trying to sound more confused than angry. “That’s my power you’re using. It goes through my meter.”He didn’t apologize.He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. He just smirked and said, “Relax, mate. It’s only a few cents.”
As if that made it okay.

I should’ve confronted him harder, but I brushed it off. I didn’t want drama with a neighbor. I told myself it was a misunderstanding.

Except it wasn’t. Because two days later, when I came home early, the extension cord was back—snaking across my lawn like a bright orange warning sign. That was the moment I realized he wasn’t confused.

He wasn’t forgetful. He simply didn’t care. So I ordered a lockable outdoor socket cover and installed it.