HOA's...

An event happened in New Palestine, Indiana, recently, that demanded I, The Chuckmeister, opine...

A 74 year-old female retiree was caught on camera defecating, not once but twice, on her neighbor's home.  She actually crapped on her neighbor's house!  And what made it worse, she was a member of her Home Owners Association.

An idea, BTW, spawned in the bowels of Hell.

HOA's, "Homeowners Associations," as they're known, are the governing bodies which oversee private communities.  In new developments, mobile homes and retiree compounds.  And if you needed that explanation, you're the better off for it.

In other words, the residents elect folks to make the decisions regarding the expenditures of the dues HOA members pay into their fund.  That can work as intended sometimes.

And sometimes, it won't.

Like the defecating oldster.  I admit that's one of the  more extreme examples of HOA "dumnitude," but far, far from the only one.

I promised myself way back when that I would never, ever buy a home in an HOA-managed development.  That's because I've been all over the place and I know what can happen if you give unqualified people a little power.  A little authority.  Giving power and authority to those who've never had it, but always craved it, can be a dangerous thing.

But due to the untimely passing of my wife and partner, I had to move fast.  It was like this: I didn't hate my daughters enough to impose my ancient self upon them and their kids, knowing that me living in a spare bedroom, corrupting their children, might doom their marriage.  So I moved to one of those nice 55-plus communties.  Thinking that I could now enjoy a peaceful retreat while planning my next caper.  

And all went well until BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom hijacked Taxifornia.  And caused the electricity rates to skyrocket.  My electric bill was $75.00 a month when I moved in.  Now, six years later, it's over $200.00.  And so I chose to go solar.  Again.  For the fourth time.

Little did I know this would cause an uproar, of the First Magnitude!

I'd solarized 3 homes prior to my current abode.  And since I do my homework, especially when it concerns a multi-$thousand dollar investment, I wound up knowing more than the salesmen who are supposed to sell it.  Much more.  And so each of the next three installations were better, and bigger, and more powerful, and more $expensive than the last.  Yet, much less costly on a per-therm of production standpoint.

And then Elaine passed, and it was time to put solar on my last home.

So I interviewed a number of companies, selected one, entered into an agreement and waited for my electric bill to go down.  And that morning arrived.  The guys from the solar installation company knocked on my door at 7:05 a.m. (can't start work in an HOA until 7:00 a.m.!).  They began their installation, making polite noise as such installations do.

Within 5 minutes my phone rang.

It was my neighbor Cheyenne.  Really.  She's a retired quilter, BTW.  Up to then our relationship had been cordial, as next door neighbors tend to be.  But then everything changed.  For it happened that one of the installers apparently dropped a tool "under her window."  A window which was at least 50 feet away.  From where the tool purportedly was dropped.  My guys would have to have thrown a tool to achieve that lofty feat.  But of course, they didn't.  

But Cheyenne called to complain.  Loudly.  As in, screaming!  And when I suggested to her that she might want to hang up and call me back later, after my morning coffee, she exploded.  As only a retired quilter can.

I thought it was all over.  It wasn't.  She banged on my door within one minute.  Demanding to be let in.  So she could scream at me some more.  She wound up chasing me all around my kitchen until I suggested she leave.  With some application of force, I must admit.

She then started screaming at the installers, demanding the permit.  It should be displayed, she said.  And godddammit, she should know, BECAUSE SHE'S ON THE BOARD OF THE HOA!  

She demanded they quit and leave.  I told them to stay.  She threatened to call the police.  I suggested she call the sheriff and the highway patrol and BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom.  Or maybe the "Mumbler-in-Chief."  Within minutes there were five or six people in my back yard.  Most of whom I've never met.  All screaming at each other.  

I'd been up about 18 minutes by this time, and I was sincerely stupified at these goings on.  By this time I'd made contact with my sales rep and had the permit sent to my phone.  Which I stuck in the quilter's face.  With extreme prejudice.  She was yelling.  I was yelling.  By this time 2 others from the HOA board were there, yelling.  Trying to corral Cheyenne.  It took most of an hour before they got her to wind down and leave my property.  

But she wasn't done yet.  She actually called the City of Murietta and demanded my permit be pulled.  They did.  I called the solar company and wished them good luck in solving this problem.

I was dumbfounded by this whole deal and quickly downed some coffee.  Unfortunately I had no "non-lethal" option near me that morning, or I'd have used it.  Like a taser.  Or perhaps a billy club.  Yeah, that would have worked!  Or maybe a quick shot to the lips.  After all, there was no one else in the kitchen.  My word against hers, right?  She fell, right?  But no, I displayed my Better Angels that morning.  Otherwise, this old bag would have been splayed out on my kitchen floor and I'd have had difficulty explaining that to the local gendarmarie.

My own personal opinion is that she was lit up on some PCP.  And maybe methamphetamine, plus some schrooms.  And perhaps a heavy dose of spice.  She was wound up tight, for sure.  What set her off, she said, was that my workmen had awakened her after she'd worked so hard to get to sleep.  And we know that strung out druggies display that symptom, now don't we?     

I had the chance to contemplate what had just transpired.  The sad truth is, Fellow Patriot, there are a bunch of near-psychopaths out there who spend their entire lives just barely in control.  They spend their entire careers delivering the mail, or selling tires, or teaching kids, or growing wheat.  Without a shred of authority.   

No way to get those animalistic agressions out.  No way to get back at "the man."  Barely supressed anger.  At no time prior to being elected to an HOA board did they have any authority whatsoever.  But NOWWWW!  They get elected to an HOA board.  And then they go on a tear!  They start looking for something to get pissed off about, and then start mailing off citations.  They WILL be obeyed!  Trim that tree!  Move that car!  Paint that fence!  And God help you if you question their authority.  

Fellow Patriots, I have one of those living next door.  I just heard from Quilter's 45 year-old (brain-damaged, of course) son, that she moved out following this, umm, display, and has only recently returned.  Under cover of darkness.  So as to not have to interact with yours truly.  She is apparently that shagrinned at the whole event.  As well she should.

And this was six months ago.  He was sent to apologize, he said.  I told him to forget it, as we all have bad days.  As he walked away, I thought to myself, "Especially if you have a near canniption fit when somebody questions your authority..." 

I guess I should consider myself lucky.  At least she hasn't crapped on my house...