Karen didn’t just dip a toe across the line this time. She sprinted past it and kept running like she was training for the HOA Olympics. Her latest stunt didn’t just feel invasive. It felt strategic, planned. She had probably spent half the night lining up these flags, muttering rule numbers that didn’t exist, believing she was laying the foundation for a new era of community control. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even annoyed. I was fascinated because when someone starts behaving this bizarrely, you get that instinct. The same one that kicks in while questioning a suspect who’s about to incriminate themselves without realizing it. Karen wasn’t sabotaging me. She was building my case for me.
Still holding the flag, I pulled out my phone and photographed every angle, footprints, spacing, the position of the flags relative to the driveway. It would come in handy later when the real authorities, the ones who actually had jurisdiction, looked into this. Right on cue, my phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Mark, the neighbor who’d complained about Karen fining him for having a red car. Dude, check your driveway. She’s lost her mind. I replied with the photo of the flags. His response came back instantly. Oh my god, she’s making runways now. I actually laughed, but the morning comedy show wasn’t over yet.
A few minutes later, I heard the familiar clack clack clack of Karen’s sandals marching down the street. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was her. Her footsteps were as recognizable as her voice. She appeared at the bottom of my driveway, clipboard hugged against her chest like a holy artifact. “Good morning,” she said, voice tight with fake politeness. “I’m sure it is,” I replied, still holding her neon orange flag like evidence. She adjusted her sunglasses. “I see you’ve discovered the preliminary markers. The HOA has initiated a vehicle access evaluation for community safety. On my property, property lines,” she said, waving a dismissive hand, “are fluid when it comes to safety concerns.” I raised an eyebrow. “Fluid? Yes. And as acting HOA president, I have full authority to take precautionary measures when a resident refuses compliance.”
She nodded toward my truck. “And your vehicle’s defiance is well documented.” I almost choked on my own air. “My truck’s defiance.” It refused universal access, she said, as if that sentence made sense in the English language. I let the silence sit for a moment, mostly because I couldn’t decide which part to address first. Eventually, I gestured at the flags. “You put these here yourself.” “Of course, I did,” she said proudly. “The board was unanimous.” My eyes narrowed. That was a lie. Or at least a major exaggeration. I knew the board was tired of Karen’s antics. They’d whispered complaints, exchanged knowing glances, even apologized to me behind her back. “Is that so?” I asked. “Unanimous?” “Well,” she shifted slightly, “unanimous in spirit.” Ah, spirit. The best friend of anyone who didn’t actually have votes.
