For the next 3 days, my house was a symphony of chaos, and I loved every second of it. Big Mike and his crew were efficient, loud, and delightfully petty. When they used the saw, they angled the dust chute so the wind carried the sawdust gently toward Brenda’s pristine driveway. When they took lunch breaks, they sat on the tailgate of the truck, facing her house, eating meatball subs and laughing boisterously. I worked from my dining room table, watching the show. But Brenda wasn’t idle. Oh, no. She was mobilizing. On Wednesday, the mailman dropped off a letter. It was a thick, creamy envelope with the Oak Creek HOA crest embossed on it. I opened it. Notice of violation. Recipient, Jason Bennett. 402 Maple Drive. Violation 1, unauthorized modification of exterior aesthetic, section 4.2. Violation 2, excessive noise nuisance, section 5.1. Violation 3, loitering, section NA, handwritten in red ink. Fine. $500 immediately, plus $1.50 day until construction ceases. I walked outside and handed the letter to Mike. He wiped his hands on his jeans and read it. “Visual nuisance.” Mike read aloud.
He looked at the beautiful cedar posts he had just installed. “This is craftsmanship. This is art. She calls this a nuisance? Her face is a visual nuisance.” “What do I do?” I asked. “They can put a lien on my house.” “Pay the fine for now,” Mike advised. “Keep the receipt, then fight it at the next meeting. But this?” He tapped the paper. “This means we’re getting under her skin. She’s throwing paper because she can’t throw punches. We escalate.” “Escalate how?” “The pergola,” Mike said, his eyes gleaming. “You wanted it shaded, right? How about we use those angled slats? The ones that block the view from the street, but let you see out? It’s called a privacy screen. It’s perfectly legal, but it’ll drive her nuts because she won’t be able to see if you’re on the porch or not. The mystery will kill her.” “Do it,” I said. “Build the wall.”
The climax of the construction phase happened on Friday. The deck was nearly done. It was magnificent. A sprawling platform of cedar, smelling of rich wood and defiance. Mike and his crew were packing up for the day. The massive F-350 was parked on the street, right in front of my house. Because the trailer was attached, the rig was long. The back wheels of the trailer were maybe 2 ft past the edge of my driveway, encroaching into the public space of the curb. I was outside signing a check for the materials when a police cruiser rolled up. Not a patrol car this time, but a sleek, menacing traffic enforcement interceptor. Brenda was already on her lawn. She wasn’t in a robe this time. She was in her full “let me speak to the manager” uniform. Khaki capris, a sensible blouse, and sunglasses big enough to weld in. She was pointing at Mike’s truck.
