And Karen didn’t like losing anything. The next morning began with a knock that sounded more like an insult than a greeting. I opened the door to see Karen standing there, her jaw tight and her phone clenched like a courtroom exhibit. Her fake smile was back, the kind people wear before delivering a threat disguised as a compliment.
She started with a syrupy tone that didn’t match the fire in her eyes. I brought you some cupcakes, she said, holding out a tray like it was a peace treaty baked in vanilla frosting. They were poorly frosted, half-tilted, and clearly store-bought. I took one just to be polite, but didn’t move from the doorway.
She launched into a long winding tale about how misunderstood she was, how people in the neighborhood depended on her for access, how she was just trying to keep things friendly. The word friendly sounded more like a curse coming from her lips. She danced around the topic for a while until finally she blurted.
So, you’re really not going to change it back? I replied calmly. Why would I? You’re the one who gave the code to half the town. She opened her mouth as if to argue, but nothing came out. Her brain was probably buffering between excuse and tantrum. She finally hissed. You made me look like an idiot. I nodded, not even pretending to disagree.
She turned around with a dramatic huff and stormed back toward her house, heels stabbing the lawn like daggers. I knew that wasn’t the end of it. Karen never stopped at losing gracefully. She’d retreat to regroup, probably pace her kitchen for hours, plotting her next move like a Bond villain with a PDA membership. And sure enough, the sabotage began within days.
First, I found a neon orange warning note taped to my gate. It looked official until I noticed the grammar mistakes and the fact that it was printed on printer paper instead of HOA stationery. It warned me of non-compliance with a fictional gate visibility ordinance, citing rules that didn’t exist.
I left it up just long enough to scan and email it to the rail HOA board, adding the subject line for your entertainment. Then came the fake complaints. I received a city citation notice in the mail about operating a home business without proper zoning. Apparently, someone had called in a tip that I was running a commercial enterprise out of my garage, which in a way was true.
I was a game developer working remotely, but that’s about as disruptive as a librarian in a padded room. Still, a zoning officer showed up. To his credit, he was polite. He took one look at my setup. Two monitors, some action figures, and a mini fridge, and laugh. I’m sorry, man. He said, “We’ve been getting a lot of these calls lately.” Same handwriting on the forms.
Let me guess, Karen. After he left, I checked my security footage again. It was now a daily habit. Cameras showed Karen walking past my driveway twice a day, sometimes lingering by the gate as if inspecting it. Once she brought a child with her and appeared to be explaining how to bypass the keypad. She actually pointed at the box and tried to pry it open with her nails while the kids stood there looking bored.
What she didn’t know was that I had installed a new function in the system, a tamper alert. When anyone tried to open the keypad housing, the system flashed a warning on the screen and instantly saved a photo to my cloud server. A message blinked on the keypad after her second attempt. Tampering detected. Footage forwarded to HOA legal.
