"Contained within this vessel is exactly $3,412.85 in legally minted United States currency. All properly cleaned, sanitized, and removed from the hazardous depths of our community pond." I pointed at the envelope. "In that envelope is a formal written request, signed and dated by me, exercising my right as a homeowner in good standing to prepay my association dues." The realization hit Arthur first.
His eyes widened comically. He looked at the jar, then at the envelope, then at me. "You want to pay your dues with this?" "I am legally tendering payment for my HOA assessments," I confirmed, nodding at the treasurer. "At $94 a month, $3,412 will cover my HOA dues for exactly 36 months—three years—with $28.85 left over, which you can apply as a credit to my account for the 37th month."
Ashley was speechless. She was staring at the jar like it was an active bomb. "You can't do that," she finally whispered, her voice hoarse. "We don't accept loose change." "Actually, Ashley, I checked the CC&Rs for that, too," I said, leaning over the table.
Section four, paragraph D. Assessments may be paid by check, money order, or legal tender. This is legal tender. It is a valid debt, and I am offering a valid payment. If you refuse to accept this payment, under federal law, the debt is considered discharged.
I looked at Arthur. Arthur, as the treasurer, are you officially refusing legal tender for an association debt? Arthur looked terrified. He looked at Ashley, who was glaring at him, silently demanding he back her up. But Arthur was a numbers guy, and he knew a losing equation when he saw one.
"We have to accept it," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temples. "If it's legal tender, we have to take it, but who is going to count it?" "That sounds like an administrative issue for the board to figure out," I said with a smile. "I recommend buying a heavy-duty coin counter, or, you know, rolling them by hand. It's very therapeutic."
I turned around, grabbed the handle of my empty appliance dolly, and started wheeling it back down the center aisle. The entire room erupted. People were laughing out loud. A guy in the back row actually started clapping. The sheer absurdity of the HOA president being forced to process 85 lb of wishing-well money to cover the dues of the guy she tried to fine was too much for them to handle.
I stopped at the double doors and looked back. Ashley was sitting frozen at the table. The giant glass jar of coins looming over her like a glittering monument to her own hubris. She looked defeated, exhausted, and completely humiliated. "Have a great night, board members," I called out over the noise.
"And Ashley, make sure you lift with your legs when you take that to the bank. It's heavier than it looks." I pushed the doors open and walked out into the cool evening air. The squeak of the empty dolly sounded like a victory march all the way home. Fast forward a month.
Life in Pelican's Perch had actually returned to somewhat normal. I mean, normal for a heavily regulated pastel nightmare, I guess. Ashley did not speak to me. If she saw me checking my mail while she was doing her golf cart patrols, then she would literally look in the opposite direction and accelerate. It was fantastic.
And true to her word, 14 days after that disastrous meeting, the board passed the new rule. I walked down to the pond the morning after the vote, and right next to the original pink laminated sign was a massive professionally printed metal sign bolted securely to an aluminum post. It was a masterpiece of hyper-specific legislation. It read, "No fishing. No aquatic salvage.
No magnetic extraction. No use of ropes, grappling hooks, or ferrous retrieval devices. No unauthorized removal of metallic or non-metallic debris. Violators will be fined $500 and prosecuted." I literally laughed until my sides hurt when I saw it.
It was the memorial plaque. But the joke was entirely on them. It didn't matter. Because of the massive fuss Ashley made and the formal letters Dave and I sent regarding the hazardous waste and municipal codes, the city of Naples actually sent an environmental inspector out to look at the retention pond. The inspector found high levels of oxidized iron and zinc in the water.
Unsurprising given what was still down there. The city formally cited the Pelican's Perch HOA for failure to maintain the stormwater system and mandated a full commercial dredging of the pond. And guess who won the municipal contract for the dredging operation? Dave. Because Dave's Demo and Haul had already conducted a preliminary survey of the hazards, his bid was accepted by the city.
He brought an actual backhoe and a commercial dredging barge out to the neighborhood for 3 weeks and he was paid by the city. The HOA got hit with a massive assessment to cover the parts the city wouldn't and Dave did very well. He even found another $200 in change while he was digging up the mud, which he proudly kept. As for me, my HOA account portal currently shows a massive negative balance in green font. I am officially paid up through the year 2029.
Every month, I get a physical statement in the mail showing my $94 deduction from the coin credit as Arthur affectionately labeled it in the ledger. The pond is cleaner than it has been in 30 years. The ducks seem happier. And Tommy, my nephew, is coming back down to visit next month. We're going to go down to the pond.
We aren't going to fish. And we aren't going to use magnets. We're just going to sit on the grass and throw a single shiny new quarter into the water just to see if Ashley's eye twitches from her living room window.