Anti-social media

I've mentioned before that our next-door neighbors are spies. But now its gotten worse.
Over the last couple weeks, they have allegedly started a "real-estate agency" in the duplex-apartment next door. In their garage/office, to be specific.
This wouldn't be so bad, but now we have five cars parked next door, crammed into a space for two cars in the U-shaped driveway. Which we also have to use.
So now we have to compete with being blocked in our own driveway while the young entrepreneurs next door meet and plot their future world real-estate domination.
This was so much easier to deal with when they were just spies.
The Girlfriend first thought these folks might be a challenge when out of nowhere they presented us with a fruit basket for Christmas.
We didn't know them that well. Said "Hi" to them a couple times -- that was about it. And suddenly they said they wanted to thank us for being "such nice neighbors."
Mm-hmmm.
We promptly re-gifted the fruit basket ... because that's what you do with gifts you don't really like, need, want, or plan to use. Right?
Besides, we'd already figured it was probably bugged.
I suggested we give them a couple gift-coffee-cups we had gathering dust here, but The Girlfriend suggested our still-new neighbors weren't "that kind of people."
Just because the cups had The Undertaker from WWE fame on them, I couldn't see why they were inappropriate. What kind of people WERE our neighbors, I wondered?
The woman claimed to be a real-estate agent, though she dressed rather severely -- more like a dominatrix. The guy claimed to be "in security." They were friendly enough for busy, ambitious folks in their mid-to-late 30s. And they did have real-estate signs in the back of their mini-van.
But. They kept very strange hours, always leaving in the middle of the night and showing back up two days later. And they were awfully quiet.
The Girlfriend was the first to suggest they were spies. They were so low-key. Evasive, almost.
When they suddenly started packing up the van and disappearing for a day and a half -- repeatedly, but never at any set time -- I started suggesting they had urgent meetings with Fearless Leader.
We started wondering if they had giant, sensitive electronic ears placed against the adjoining wall of the apartments, listening to my Strange Music-playing sessions on Sunday mornings, or overhearing our tasteless jokes about What Kind of Woman Would Actually Go to Bed With Donald Trump?
I wondered how long it would be before the black helicopters started circling the house....
But now is actually worse. And weirder. After one recent traffic jam in the driveway, The Girlfriend suggested gently to the spies (or whatever) that they might actually be able to fit their five vehicles into the available room if they all pulled straight in rather than just parking every-which-way.
They ignored her.
One of the spies (or whatever) showed during a recent downpour that she can't even back out of the driveway (which is on a hill) without spinning her tires, losing traction, and almost wrecking her van. They continue to park whichever way is quickest and best keeps them out of the rain.
It could be worse. At least they aren't drug dealers. There isn't an endless parade of vehicles swinging through at every hour of the day and night.
And they aren't religious fanatics. They aren't beating a drum and singing "Kum-Bye-Ya" over there.
And if it's a sex ring ... well, they're awfully quiet.
Have I noted that -- except for one -- all their cars are the same ominous dark-gray color?
I figure they're undercover Trump campaign workers, gathering information, trying to keep in touch with the street, seeing what The Common Man really thinks about the new regime.
Good luck with that. I don't think they'll get much feedback. Not with those thick Russian accents....