Day 70: Nextdoor Is Becoming a White Paper on How Not to Communicate
At this point, my ongoing experience on Nextdoor could become a white paper on corporate communications.
Unfortunately for Nextdoor, it would largely be about what not to do.
There are two names that naturally come up in this conversation: Kelsey Grady, who leads Communications, and Nirav Tolia, because he's ultimately the CEO.
But for a moment, let's forget that today is Day 70 without receiving the detailed research I've requested.
Let's even forget that Communications finally responded by sending me links to the same blog posts I've been referencing—essentially answering a question I didn't ask.
I want to look at something bigger.
How Do You Communicate a Change Your Customers Aren't Going to Like?
Nextdoor has changed how businesses can participate in conversations.
As I've previously discussed, when a neighbor asks for recommendations for a service, businesses may encounter Nextdoor's new pay-to-comment model to respond as a business.
Think about who this affects.
The plumber.
The landscaper.
The handyman.
The house cleaner.
The dog walker.
The locally owned restaurant.
The contractor who has spent years building a reputation among neighbors.
These are precisely the kinds of small businesses that helped make Nextdoor useful in the first place.
And I've seen business owners who are not happy about the change.
Here's where my Learning & Development brain kicks in.
My first question isn't:
"Why are people complaining?"
It's:
"How was the change managed?"
Because when you're introducing a change that affects how people operate—and potentially their wallets—the communication strategy matters almost as much as the change itself.
Where Was the Buy-In?
I'm genuinely curious about what happened before rollout.
Was there a focus group of small-business users?
Was there a beta program?
Were businesses shown different pricing or participation models?
Was feedback collected?
Were objections identified before launch?
Did Nextdoor explain the business problem it was trying to solve?
Were longtime business users prepared for the change before suddenly encountering it?
And perhaps most importantly:
Did anyone ask the small businesses what they thought before asking them for more money?
I don't know the answers.
Maybe Nextdoor did extensive research.
If so, show us.
That's communication too.
Because good change management isn't simply:
"Here's the new policy. Good luck."
It's creating awareness, explaining the reason, gathering feedback, building understanding, addressing resistance and giving stakeholders an opportunity to participate in the change.
Will everybody agree?
Of course not.
You aren't getting 100% buy-in on a change that asks people to pay for something they previously did differently.
But there's a significant difference between:
"I don't like this change, but I understand how and why we got here."
and
"Wait...you're charging me for WHAT now?"
That's where communication earns its keep.
Kelsey and Nirav: This Is the Bigger Question
This is why my criticism goes beyond one unanswered research request.
Kelsey leads Communications.
Nirav leads the company.
So I'm increasingly interested in understanding the philosophy behind Nextdoor's communication strategy.
When people criticize the company, comments are often unavailable.
When I requested research, I spent weeks without an answer.
When Communications finally contacted me, I believe they answered something different from what I requested.
And now small businesses are publicly questioning a monetization change that directly affects how they participate on the platform.
These may look like separate issues.
I don't think they are.
They all raise the same fundamental question:
Is Nextdoor communicating with its stakeholders—or communicating at them?
That's a distinction worthy of a white paper.
Nextdoor talks extensively about community.
But community requires dialogue.
Businesses aren't just revenue opportunities.
Shareholders aren't just ticker symbols.
Users aren't just WAU.
They're stakeholders.
And stakeholder communication isn't measured by how many announcements you publish.
It's measured by whether people understand the message, have an opportunity to respond, and believe someone is actually listening.
Maybe Nextdoor's new business model ultimately proves successful.
Maybe businesses eventually embrace it.
But if the rollout creates unnecessary anger because the people affected weren't properly prepared, consulted or given a compelling reason to buy in, that's not simply a pricing issue.
That's a change-management and communications issue.
Day 70.
At this point, I'm not merely studying Nextdoor anymore.
Nextdoor is providing the case study.
Follow the continuing experiment and full timeline at NielFlamm.com/blog.
Another "Recruiter" Says They're Not Selling a Service... Until the End
I've seen this pattern enough times that I recognize it almost immediately.
A recruiter reaches out with a "confidential search" for a role that seems tailored to your background. The message is highly personalized, highlighting your experience and accomplishments. It looks legitimate.
So I asked a very direct question:
"Is this a true recruitment opportunity or are you selling a service (resume, career, etc.)?"
The response?
"This is a genuine recruitment opportunity, not a resume, career-coaching, or other paid service offer."
Sounds reassuring... right?
The conversation continued with detailed job descriptions, salary ranges, and responsibilities. Everything appeared legitimate.
Then came the familiar next step.
"Send me your current resume."
If you've followed these scams before, you know what often comes next.
This is where many job seekers eventually hear that their resume "needs work," they're not positioned correctly, or they need help standing out before they can be presented to the employer. That's when the sales pitch begins.
I'm not saying that's what would have happened here—I chose not to continue the conversation before it reached that point. But it follows a pattern I've documented many times.
Another detail that caught my attention was the email address used to contact me.
The recruiter somehow found my moogie14a@aim.com email address—a mailbox I haven't actively used in years. Not exactly the email address I'd expect a professional recruiter to find first.
This is why I encourage every job seeker to ask direct questions early in the conversation.
If someone says they are not selling a service, that's a good start—but don't stop asking questions.
The real concern isn't just wasting time.
The fear is that someone pays hundreds of dollars through PayPal, Zelle, cryptocurrency, Cash App, or another payment method, only to discover they never receive what was promised—or have little chance of recovering their money.
I'll continue documenting these interactions, the tactics being used, and the warning signs so others can recognize them before it's too late.
Follow my blog for additional recruiting scam investigations, screenshots, and real-world examples:
Stay skeptical.
Ask questions.
Verify everything.
Trust your instincts.
The Hinge Experiment: Yep, This Is Going Exactly as Expected
Well, here we are.
A few days into The Hinge Experiment, and I have an exciting update:
This is going exactly as expected.
If you've been following along, you know I recently ended my Tinder experiment and moved over to Hinge. Tinder wasn't exactly producing my happily-ever-after, so perhaps Hinge—the dating app allegedly “designed to be deleted”—would be different.
And right out of the gate, things looked promising.
I got a match relatively quickly.
Kelli!
Holy crap.
Maybe this was going to work.
Maybe I'd cracked the online-dating code.
Maybe I'd be writing one of those obnoxiously adorable stories six months from now:
"We met on Hinge, and I just knew..."
Calm down, Niel.
Because since then?
No other matches.
And as for Match Number One...
Well.
Apparently, “Communication” Has Multiple Definitions
I spend an unhealthy amount of time watching Facebook Reels and other short-form internet garbage, and there's a recurring theme when women talk about what they want in a man:
Communication.
They want a man who communicates.
Excellent!
Because you know what?
I kinda want that too.
I'm not looking for someone to send me a 14-page dissertation every morning.
I'm not expecting hourly relationship status reports.
I'm certainly not demanding a notarized itinerary.
But I do ask questions.
Actual questions.
Questions with those little squiggly things at the end that traditionally indicate:
“Hey, I'd like you to answer this.”
For example:
“How are you coping with the stupid heat and humidity?”
Nothing.
Okay.
I tried again and suggested an actual date.
Eventually:
“Hey.”
We're cooking now!
Next, I asked:
“What's your preferred method to communicate? Text, Phone, Morse Code?”
I thought the Morse Code thing was funny.
Apparently, I may need to actually purchase a telegraph.
Eventually, I got:
“lol I
Sorry sweetheart”
No need to apologize!
I told her I'd love to take her out.
I tried sharing a little about myself.
Then she sent:
“Good morning.”
Progress!
So naturally, I responded:
“Good morning! What r u up to today?”
Nothing.
The next morning?
“Good morning.”
Okay.
We've apparently entered a relationship with a hotel front desk.
Good morning!
Good morning!
GOOD MORNING!
So I tried again:
“Good morning! What do you have going on this weekend? Hopefully something awesome.”
And now...
We wait.
Again.
Am I Doing This Wrong?
This is where I need someone to explain modern dating to me.
How do people actually meet?
Seriously.
I'm not asking rhetorically anymore.
Do you bump carts at Costco while both reaching for the same 48-pack of toilet paper?
Do you lock eyes across the produce department while inspecting avocados?
Do you meet at church?
A bar?
The gym?
Facebook?
Hinge?
Tinder?
The DMV?
Do I need to fake an injury at Target and hope someone attractive comes to my aid?
Actually, with my luck, she'd help me up and then ask if I've ever considered investing in cryptocurrency.
I'm beginning to think I'm not any closer to finding my forever-after than I was when I started The Hinge.
Or Tinder.
Or before Tinder.
Maybe It's Time for Plan B
I think I have finally developed a backup plan.
I'm getting a lizard.
Maybe an iguana.
Some sort of reptile.
Something substantial.
Then I'm going to become that dude who walks around the beach with a giant lizard.
You know EXACTLY who I'm talking about.
Every beach town has one.
Nobody knows his name.
Nobody knows where he came from.
Nobody knows why there's a four-foot reptile sitting on his shoulder.
But EVERYBODY talks to him.
“OMG! Is that your iguana?”
Yes. Yes, it is.
“Can I pet him?”
Of course. His name is Steve.
Boom.
Conversation.
No algorithm.
No swiping.
No unanswered questions.
No waiting three days to receive “Good morning.”
Just me, Steve the Iguana, and the Atlantic Ocean.
And here's the best part:
Steve communicates.
He might communicate exclusively by blinking and occasionally eating lettuce, but at this point, that's competitive.
So that's where The Hinge Experiment currently stands.
One match.
No additional matches.
Several questions.
Very few answers.
Zero dates.
And an increasingly realistic possibility that my next meaningful relationship will be with a reptile.
Still...
The experiment continues.
Maybe Kelli will respond.
Maybe another match will appear.
Maybe someone will eventually communicate.
Maybe I'll actually go on a date.
Or maybe you'll see me walking down the beach six months from now with a giant iguana on my shoulder.
If you do...
Come say hello.
At least one of us will probably answer.
Houston, We Have a Problem
I got up at 4:00 this morning to clean up, pack, and head to Charleston International Airport (CHS) for my 7:09 flight. Boarding began at 6:44, so there wasn’t much time to spare.
Everything was going according to plan. I showered, got my head nice and bald, got dressed, finished packing, and was ready to head out.
There was just one last thing to do: crank the prosthetic socket to make it snug.
Then I heard it.
“SNAP!”
Uhhh…what was that?
I looked down and discovered that the string connected to the piece that tightens my prosthetic socket had broken off somewhere.
Was this going to stop me?
For a moment, I thought, “Yup, it is.”
Then I reconsidered. The prosthesis wouldn’t be as secure, and I would have to limit my walking—but I could still go.
So, off I went.
On the way to the airport, I called Floyd Brace. They have an emergency hotline, and if I had been staying in the MTP area, I would have used it. But I was heading for the Big Apple, and this wasn’t an emergency.
I left a message asking for an appointment after dialysis on Monday.
When I arrived at the airport, I handed my keys to the valet and used wheelchair assistance at both CHS and LaGuardia Airport (LGA). So far, I’ve been okay.
Because the socket doesn’t fit as snugly as it should, I have to work a little harder. Still, I made it to New York.
This is life as an amputee. Sometimes something snaps at the worst possible moment, and you have to stop, assess the situation, adjust the plan, and keep moving.
This problem will be solved eventually.
Until then, I’ll keep adapting.
It’s 10 PM. I Shouldn’t Be Eating This. But the Food Cart Called Me.
It's 10:00 PM in New York City.
I've had a long day.
I've eaten plenty.
I'm back at the hotel.
The responsible thing to do would be to drink some water, get into bed, and call it a night.
There was just one problem.
The food cart outside my hotel was calling me.
And I don't mean figuratively.
I walked outside, and I'm pretty sure I heard:
"Niel... Niiiiiel... come get some chicken and lamb over rice..."
What was I supposed to do?
Ignore it?
That would be rude.
🌃 This Is New York Street Food
The cart has exactly what you'd expect from a New York City street food cart:
Chicken over rice.
Lamb over rice.
Falafel over rice.
Gyros.
Hot dogs.
And enough other options displayed on the side of the cart to make you stand there staring at the menu much longer than necessary.
But I knew what I wanted.
Chicken and lamb over saffron rice.
Add the lettuce.
Add the tomatoes.
And absolutely give me the white sauce.
Hot sauce?
Nope.
I've learned that lesson before.
My stomach and hot sauce have a complicated relationship. Actually, that's being generous.
My stomach has clearly communicated its boundaries.
I'm respecting them.
💰 Wait... That's the Price?!
Then came the biggest surprise of the night.
The entire plate was just over $10.
In.
New. York. City.
Are you kidding me?
I was fully prepared for the guy to tell me it was $15. Maybe more.
It's 10 PM. I'm hungry. I'm in New York. He has possession of the chicken and lamb.
He has all the negotiating power.
Instead, just over ten bucks.
At that price, I happily added another 20% tip for the guy working the cart.
And somehow this gets even more ridiculous.
Earlier, I bought two bottles of Coke Zero from the hotel.
Almost $8.
Let me make sure I understand the economics here:
🥤 Two Coke Zeros from the hotel: almost $8
🍗🐑 A giant container of chicken AND lamb over saffron rice, with lettuce, tomato and white sauce from a New York City street cart: just over $10
Someone, please explain this to me.
Actually, don't.
I don't want anyone investigating and telling the food-cart guy he needs to raise his prices.
🤤 And Was It Worth Eating at 10 PM?
Look at the picture.
You already know the answer.
Chicken.
Lamb.
Saffron rice.
Lettuce.
Tomatoes.
White sauce everywhere.
No hot sauce because I would like to enjoy the rest of my trip without my digestive system filing a formal complaint.
And it is amazing.
Was eating this at 10 PM a good decision?
Nutritionally?
Probably not.
Financially?
ABSOLUTELY.
Spiritually?
I'm going with yes.
After a day of hanging out with friends and family, eating New York backyard food, missing my Broadway show because I was having too much fun, and riding through Queens at night, this feels like the appropriate ending.
Tomorrow I'll worry about responsible eating.
Tonight?
The cart called.
I answered.
And for just over $10 in New York City, I'm very glad I did.