Because I'm the first resident at my address, there are a handful of extra new-homeowner things I have to handle, like getting a gas meter installed. My condo is all electric, but there's a gas powered space heater installed (taking up precious floor space) in my living room. I was told it's optional, and I spent a few evenings with my limited tools trying like hell to disconnect the thing (it's hooked up to a gas line, but the gas line isn't attached to anything because there's no meter.) Another resident told me that the electric bill is four times the cost of the gas one if I rely on electric heating, so I finally decided to keep the spacehogging heater. On my closing date, I was given a little 4x6" piece of paper stating that the gas lines had been inspected by the city, and I could get the gas meter installed.

Being Joy, I filed it away safely, and made a note on my calendar to call at the beginning of September, because I sure didn't want some poor guy slaving away installing a heavy gas meter five feet off the ground in an unventilated basement in the middle of summer. We've had some nice cool weather, so now would be a perfect time to get it installed before that basement gets unreasonably cold. So I pulled the card from the file on Saturday and made a note to call the gas company after the long weekend.

Only, on Tuesday, the card was gone.

I tore up the house, pulled every piece of paper that's been filed since May, went through all the paper recycling, moved the couch and looked with the flashlight under the bed, bookcase, etc. No piece of paper.

The guy at the city told me it would be fine, and called and got verbal approval that the inspection was fine. They *remember* my unit. I say the street address, and they confirm my unit, without even looking at a computer. That is bloody insane. This is the second time this has happened--it happened with the city's tax assessor, when my mortgage company tried to quadruple the amount in escrow for taxes. I called him in a panic asking for more documentation, and he told me to give them his number and said not to worry, he'd straighten them out. Next thing I knew, I got a hugely reduced bill in the mail from the mortgage company. And the tax guy remembered my unit as well.

I love the small town feel here, but the huge diversity. I love the fact that the market carries tamarinds and tomatillos, but the crossing guard knows all the kids that attend the elementary school and waves at me year after year. I love the fact that there's a working class feel, not a lot of racism or gentrification (although I supposed I'm contributing to that), and when you call somewhere you can be assured you'll be greeted with a flat Boston accent. When I email my alderman, I get a response. I know where he lives because his home address is in his email. I dropped a letter off at city hall to register my protest about some zoning changes, and I know it will actually be read and considered.

I've never been political, but this small town makes me feel like I can contribute and I matter to them.

Parking, on the other hand...