Here, problems didn't always become smaller.
Sometimes they became notices.
The President
Bettina Whitmore introduced herself three days after Darnell moved in.
She was fifty-one, had lived in Meadowlark for fifteen years, and had served as HOA president for six.
She chaired the architectural committee too.
Nobody else had volunteered enough times to stop her.
She handed Darnell a laminated sheet.
“Approved exterior colors.”
Darnell glanced at it.
“Thank you.”
“People move here because standards are maintained.”
He smiled politely.
“That's understandable.”
Bettina pointed toward his mailbox.
“That color isn't approved.”
Darnell looked at the mailbox.
It was white.
“It's white.”
“The approved shade is Antique Linen.”
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
For the first time, Darnell wondered whether she was serious.
She was.
Three weeks later, a violation notice arrived.
UNAUTHORIZED MAILBOX COLOR.
Fine:
$40.
Darnell paid it.
He had seven major cases on his desk.
A city council budget presentation.
A command-staff vacancy.
And a police department that seemed to generate emergencies faster than he could read emails.
Forty dollars seemed cheaper than arguing about whether white paint was white enough.
That decision would become one of his few genuine regrets.
Bettina interpreted payment as agreement.
Within six weeks, notices arrived every Tuesday.