“You had to change her tyre to avoid being fined? What the hell is this? A labour camp?”
“We signed up to it,” he said in resignation. “Stupid Homeowner Associations, but you know, it’s not like other communities where they’re actually reasonable. She’s been president of the board for so long that it’s all gone to her head.”
Traipsing back into the house, I looked for that stupid agreement again that everyone seemed to be talking about, and it took me a few minutes to filter through all of the paperwork. I couldn’t even figure out what it was, until I realised that there was a bunch of pages attached to the back of the one talking about the facility fee, with all of the amenities such as the gym. Evidently, I’d been so drawn in by the pool and the like, that I hadn’t noticed there was a whole other section, to which I’d also signed my name. I read through quickly, and realised that the gated community I’d moved into could be quite strict in regards to causing a nuisance towards your neighbours. There were all sorts of fines that could be dished out for doing something without approval; you even needed written approval to change your mailbox!
There were also some fairly loose terms in there, such as doing something that was ‘broadly offensive’ and ‘partaking in activities that compromised common decency’. What the hell did that even mean? Those descriptions were so vague that basically anything could be interpreted as falling under their umbrella. What if a neighbour had an aversion to the colour blue? Did that mean I couldn’t purchase a blue car? Surely, it was way too wide to even be considered legal. But I’d foolishly signed it all the same.
I moved onto the building and fixtures section, and that was even more ridiculous. Any work undertaken first required an approved plan, as well as a deposit paid to the Homeowner Association, which would be returned upon signing off of said work. That seemed extraordinary. It totally made sense that work would require approval, but surely that should come from the relevant construction authorities. What the hell kind of expertise did Carol of the Homeowner Association have in regards to building regulations? So, if I built something, and Carol didn’t like it, she could get some jobsworth to condemn it and keep the fucking deposit? That was ludicrous.
I quickly dialled one of my friends that worked in a legal office, and talked through the paperwork. “You didn’t buy in one of those HOA’s, did you?” he asked tentatively after listening to me splutter for a few minutes. “They’re a law onto themselves. I would have advised you not going ahead with it.”
“What?” I asked, as my throat ran dry. “She can’t fine me for having a party though, can she? I wasn’t harming anyone. It didn’t even finish late. Does she even have the authority to do that? She’s a nobody.”
“I mean…I don’t know. That’s not really our area. All I know is that these things can get dragged through the court, and since you signed the agreement, you’d need to be really careful in future regarding violating anything specific. It honestly depends on how far she wants to take this, but these ridiculous associations can be a real headache. I mean, even if you win and get it overturned, the court fees will end up being more than the initial fine. I would have advised you to buy elsewhere because frankly, Jodie, you have way too much personality to fit into one of these places. Sometimes they’re reasonable, but other times, like you’re finding out, they’re way too restrictive.”
“Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”
“Maybe it’ll come to nothing. I know a few judges that would laugh her off and throw it out immediately, but if she pushes this through a collection’s agency and the courts, and if she has the right connections, well, who knows where it could go. Court fees most definitely will end up dwarfing the penalty. Maybe it’s best you go and speak to her? Maybe she’s just being dramatic and there could be a reasonable, amicable resolution to this. At the end of the day, is getting rid of the BBQ really that much of a deal if it means you live in peace?”
“Why should I though? She’s just a Karen. If I give her an inch, she’s going to take a mile, isn’t she? I have to nip this in the bud from the beginning.”
“Well, good luck to you. Do you want me to put you in touch with someone?”
I was still dwelling on that mention of her connections, the cop’s words ringing in my ears, and how he had only attended my property because of the ‘higher ups’. She’d caused such a stink over my small party, that someone high up in the police department had used up valuable resources to have me turn the music down a notch. I’d complied, and now I was being punished anyway, just because she could?
“I’ll try talking to her,” I muttered, while considering the bills I had to pay, still grasped in my fingers beneath this outlandish letter. “I really can’t afford to be paying something like this, especially after having just moved in. Maybe we can come to a compromise.” I was imagining myself changing her flat tyre, before I recalled our minor argument on my driveway. “Maybe she’s annoyed I called her a Karen.”
“You called her a Karen?” my friend said with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, not a good idea. Guess you’ve made yourself an enemy.”
“The worst kind.”
I ended the call, and with the letter clutched in my hand, I marched through the street, in search of whichever house was Carol’s. The superior and pedantic nature of the letter had infuriated me; I’d been addressed and reprimanded as if I were a child. Not even my boss or mother ever castigated me in that way, yet this vile woman, because she had somehow landed herself this token role of power, felt like she could belittle and talk down to me because of a fucking small party on my own property? I mean, what harm had it really caused? The police had shut it down before anyone had even got drunk! Now, because this Carol didn’t like it, I had to get rid of the BBQ completely or pay a fine on top? Even though I’d just paid hundreds of dollars for it. That was ridiculous and so unfair and I was simply way too principled to allow her to run havoc over me.
While I stomped my way down the street, I came across a guy who was pruning the shrubs in his yard, knelt down in a mound of dirt. “Hey,” I said, while waving the letter in his direction. “Do you know which house”–I paused to squint at the name signed off on the bottom of the paper–“this Carol Broom lives in?”
He gulped, before scratching his head. “Ms. Broom?” He nodded towards the paper. “Always a bad thing when you get one of those through the door. I had one once about my kids’ paddling pool and how it was a drowning hazard.” He tried peering at the letter. “What have you done?”
I shook my head. “Does it matter? I just need to know where she lives so I can sort this nonsense out.”
He grimaced. “Good luck with that.” He then began trimming the leaves from the bush once more, not even looking in my direction. “She lives in no.1, of course, she’s been here the longest of all of us. The one right near the security.” He then turned me to once more. “Her ex-husband is the developer, you know that, right? He appointed her as the president of the Homeowner Association before they separated.”
“Yes, and she’s already exerting her made-up authority on me.” I scowled. “Shouldn’t we get a vote on that anyway? We’re paying fees every month for it.”
“We should,” he said with a sigh. “But, we don’t. Carol is in charge of it, and, unfortunately”–he lowered his voice slightly–“Carol is one of those middle-aged women that is somehow offended by everything and thinks the world owes her a favour. You know the type? Like other people’s happiness and comfort is an inconvenience to her.”
“I know,” I said. “She’s a fucking Karen.”
The guy guffawed. “A what?”
“A Karen! That’s what they call those type of women. She’s a fucking Karen.”
“Oh, well, in that case…we’re living in a Karenocracy.” He scratched his head, inadvertently getting soil in his hair. “Welcome aboard.”
“Which is no.1 anyway?” I balked. “Wait, the one at the front by the security?” I asked in surprise. “The one with all of the hanging plants and the pond in the garden? I thought that was the blimming show house.” I then narrowed my eyes. “Wait, she was bitching about your paddling pool when she had a fricken’ pond the whole time?”
“Yeah,” he said in a deadpan voice. “It’s a ‘do as I say, not as a I do’ kind of deal around here. It was just easier to get rid of it than getting into anything with her. The kids can still use the community pool anyway.”
“But…but…but…” I shook my head, completely perplexed by the hypocrisy. Her house was notably bigger than the others, and looked like she lived in a bloody botanical garden. I was being reprimanded for having a small BBQ without her permission? Who the hell did she think she was? Did she expect me to send her a letter every time I wanted to add a garden gnome too?
“Good luck,” he said again. “You’re going to need it.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” I asked under my breath, before marching away before the guy could answer.
I headed towards the main entrance of the gated community, just beyond the security hut and to what I originally thought had been the show house. When I’d first come to look at the facility, I’d even walked around the garden, not realising that someone had lived there. I figured that it was just a pretty display to entice us all in. As if it was showcasing the kind of home we could build ourselves. I never considered that it was a taunt of what the ‘president’ was allowed to enjoy while everyone else had to suffer beneath her iron fist. I mean, denying a child a paddling pool in their own garden? That was just spiteful and petty. Especially when she had some expansive pond that looked like it was straight out of a Japanese garden, even with the pricey Koi in tow! My yard looked like an empty plot in comparison, and she even had a bunch of wind chimes flapping and rattling around that were causing more of a noise disturbance than the music had been at my party.
Will there a part 2?