I had been wrong before.
But never this spectacularly.
The Border House
To understand how we got to the moment Karen called 911 on the sheriff without realizing it, you have to understand where I lived.
My house sat right on the border of the HOA’s jurisdiction—close enough that Karen could see my driveway, but far enough that she technically had no authority over any square inch of my property.
That technicality was the single greatest frustration of her entire personality.
The day I moved in, I was still carrying boxes when I saw her approach: brisk steps, shoulders squared, clipboard tucked under her arm like she was heading into court.
She didn’t say hello.
She didn’t say welcome.
She looked at my patrol cruiser and opened with, “Law enforcement vehicles may cause unnecessary alarm. I’ll need you to park that elsewhere.”
I blinked at her, thinking I misheard.
