The homeowner knew something had gone terribly wrong the moment the HOA president lifted one bare leg over the top of the cedar privacy fence.
He had already told her twice.
“That isn’t my yard.”
She ignored him.
The white American woman in her early forties gripped the wooden fence with both hands, shifted her weight, and swung her other leg over as if climbing into someone else’s private property were simply another item on the morning agenda.
What made the scene even more absurd was what she was wearing.
A blue floral one-piece swimsuit.
Not business clothes.
Not jeans.
Not anything remotely resembling the uniform of a person conducting an official property inspection.
A blue swimsuit patterned with pale tropical flowers.
She had left her sandals on the grass beside the narrow side path and carried a small waterproof pouch clipped at her waist. Inside were test strips, a phone, and the plastic badge she had recently begun wearing during what she called “community compliance inspections.”
The homeowner stood on the opposite side of the fence in a charcoal polo shirt, tan pants, and ordinary sneakers, staring at her in disbelief.
“Stop.”
The HOA president looked down at him.
“You’ve refused access three times.”
“To my yard.”
“Yes.”
“That still isn’t my yard.”
She smirked.
“You really expect me to believe that?”
He pointed toward his own house.
“My property is over there.”
She looked briefly toward the neighboring roofline.
Two nearly identical brick houses stood side by side.
Both had cedar fencing.
Both had rear pools.
Both properties had been built from the same original development plan twenty years earlier.
From the narrow greenbelt behind them, the fence lines looked almost identical.
But the homeowner knew exactly which yard belonged to him.
So did every person who had ever bothered checking the parcel map.
The HOA president apparently had not.
Or perhaps she had become so certain that he was lying that the possibility of being wrong no longer mattered.
She shifted again.
The homeowner raised both hands.
“I am telling you right now: you are climbing into my neighbor’s property.”
She dropped down.
Her bare feet hit the stone patio on the other side.
She straightened.
Then smiled at him through the fence.
“Nice try.”
The homeowner stared.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The HOA president adjusted the waterproof pouch at her hip.
“Under Article Seven of the community standards, the association has the right to inspect exterior recreational improvements for safety compliance.”
“No.”
“Yes.”