Which brings us back to that Thursday morning at Starbucks.
After she climbed in and delivered her demand, I stayed surprisingly calm. Calm is a skill you learn when your job is outages. You do not match the volume of the alarm. You find the switch. While she rambled about her imaginary authority, I set the latte down so I would not wear it, and I casually pulled out my phone and dialed 911. She did not even notice until I was already speaking to the dispatcher. She was busy explaining that garden gnomes on the 400 block had been placed without a variance, and that the board could not convene without her, and that my car was, in effect, a community asset for the next twelve minutes.
“Hello,” I said, in my most polite voice, as Brenda’s expression shifted toward a dangerous purple. “I’d like to report a trespassing and attempted vehicle theft at the Starbucks on Cedar Ridge Drive. The suspect is in my car and refusing to exit. She’s about five-two, gray hair in a bob, wearing a navy blazer embroidered with HOA president. Yes, I’ll remain on the line.”
Brenda let out a strangled shriek. “You cannot call the police on me. I am a duly elected official conducting official HOA business.” She actually lunged for my phone. I held it out of her reach, which was not difficult. She was buckled in by then, though I had not asked her to buckle, and the belt caught her short. “This is mutiny,” she screeched. “This is insurrection. I’ll have you expelled from Cedar Ridge Estates.”
“Ma’am,” I said evenly, still speaking to the dispatcher, “the perpetrator is now trying to grab my phone and is attempting to assault me. Please send officers immediately. Yes, I feel threatened.” The dispatcher asked if she was armed. “No, she doesn’t appear to be armed, unless you count a clipboard.”