If you have enough money and connections, rules are for other people.

Soon, he would test that theory.

The Inspection

Two weeks after the garden gnome incident, someone rang my doorbell at eight in the morning.

Repeatedly.

I opened the door wearing pajama pants and trying to remember where I'd left my coffee.

Vivian stood on my porch.

Clipboard.

Measuring tape.

Digital camera.

And behind her stood Trevor.

"Mr. Rodriguez," Vivian announced, "I'm conducting a routine property compliance inspection."

"Since when?"

"Since always."

Trevor looked me up and down.

"Nice pajamas, dude."

I ignored him.

I'd already done my research.

HOA authority wasn't unlimited.

So I folded my arms.

"Show me where the bylaws authorize you to inspect my private property."

Vivian smiled.

"The general maintenance clause gives me that authority."

"Which section?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she walked into my yard.

Trevor followed.

The camera began clicking.

"Violation one," Vivian announced. "Trash cans visible from the street."

My trash cans were behind a fence.

"You'd need binoculars to see those."

"Violation two. Improperly stored garden hose."

The hose was perfectly coiled.

"Violation three. Excessive oxidation on window screens."

"They're eight years old."

"Violation four. Driveway oil stain."

She pointed to a tiny spot.

It was roughly the size of a quarter.

I'd had enough.

"Stop."

Vivian turned.

"Show me the exact bylaw authorizing this inspection, or get off my property."