I was not angry. I was not 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 is about to incriminate themselves without realizing it. Karen was not 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 had 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 was not over yet.
A few minutes later, I heard the familiar clack, clack, clack of Karen’s sandals marching down the street. I did not 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 could not 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 had 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 did not actually have votes. I took a step toward her, polite but firm. “Karen, this is private property. You’re trespassing. And these flags, this gate you’re planning, have no legal standing.” Her chin snapped upward. “Not yet.” That made me pause. Not yet. Karen clutched her clipboard like a shield. “I’ll be drafting an amendment for the next HOA meeting. The community will vote to place all vehicles within visual proximity of HOA land under shared authority. It’s progressive.” “It’s illegal,” I countered. She brushed off the comment with a scoff. “Laws adapt. Communities evolve.” Then she added, almost giddily, “Besides, residents deserve protection from rogue vehicles.” My truck was now a rogue vehicle. Marvelous.