I asked if dismantling a fence with power tools didn’t count as intent. He said that was up to interpretation, whatever that meant. So that evening, I decided to show up at the HOA’s emergency town hall meeting, which had apparently been called to discuss community access optimization. It was held in the local clubhouse, a glorified double wide with folding chairs and a snack table full of stale cookies.
I walked in holding a giant poster board of my property lines and a USB stick full of surveillance footage. Karen, perched on the head table like a smug queen at a banquet, looked over her glasses and smiled. Oh, you’re here. Wonderful. We were just talking about you. No one ever says that in a good way.
I introduced myself, said I had concerns about unauthorized construction and traffic being rerouted through private property, and asked who had authorized the breach in my fence. Karen tapped her tablet, then gave me a practiced look of concern. That was a miscommunication, she said. The crew believed it was green belt territory. We’ll review the boundaries later.
I said I had the boundaries with me right now and could pull up the city assessor’s map on the projector. She declined. Then she pivoted. But the real issue is that your driveway is now a key exit point for the neighborhood. It would be irresponsible to remove that access during our construction phase. Safety comes first.
I asked whose safety she was talking about because so far the only one at risk was Max, who nearly got run over by a jeep trying to merge into my backyard. A few neighbors chuckled. Karen did not. Then she made her big move. She clicked her iPad and suddenly the screen behind her flashed with a PowerPoint slide titled temporary easement proposal. Parcel 74B.
That’s my parcel. Below it were bullet points, all in comic sands, outlining a plan to temporarily designate my driveway as an emergency access lane under HOA management. I raised my hand. She ignored me. I shouted over her and said that parcel 74B was privately owned and that any designation would require county approval, legal consent, and probably a blood sacrifice.
She sighed and said, “Well let the board vote on the proposal.” I looked at the board members, five people who had either never spoken to me or once fined me for putting out recycling too early. One of them was already nodding like a bobblehead. The vote was 3 to2 in favor. Karen grinned. Proposal passed. It’s non-binding for now, but it gives us operational flexibility.
Operational flexibility. I wanted to throw a chair. As I left the meeting, Barry called. He’d been watching via the Clubhouse live stream because, of course, Karen had insisted on recording it for transparency. He said, “She just shot herself in the foot.” I asked how. He said, “She introduced a legal proposal based on false claims and voted it into the record.
That means she’s responsible for any consequences. And if you record her confirming her knowledge of the falsehood, well, then we’ve got something juicy. I got home and found a letter taped to my garage door. It was from Karen, of course. It read, “Dear homeowner, we are excited to announce the pilot phase of community flow routing is underway.
Please remove any personal obstructions from the driveway to allow smooth passage. Thank you for being part of a better tomorrow.” There was a smiley face sticker in the corner. I sat on the porch with Max again, watching yet another car roll through and nearly clip my garden hose. I thought about how absurd this had gotten.
