That is a $150 fine right now!" I calmly wiped my muddy gloved hands on my jeans. I looked at Ashley. I looked at the heavy steel magnet resting on the grass. I looked back at Ashley.
"I'm not fishing, Ashley," I said, my voice dangerously calm and conversational. "You have a line in the water!" she shrieked, gesturing wildly at the orange paracord. "You are pulling things out of the pond!" I stepped toward her, holding up the massive dripping magnet. "Do you see a hook?"
"Ashley, do you see bait? Do you see a bobber?" She blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sheer size of the metal disc. "What? What is that?"
"This," I said, tapping the heavy steel, "is a neodymium magnet. I am not fishing. I am engaging in magnetic environmental remediation. I am extracting hazardous ferrous materials from the community water supply." "You are fishing," she insisted, though her voice wavered slightly.
"Florida Statute 379.101, Ashley," I recited, leaning in slightly. "The state of Florida defines fishing as the taking or attempting to take wildlife. Is a 1982 rusted spark plug wildlife? Does a clump of quarters have gills? Have I caught a fish?"
She stared at the bucket. She saw the rusted metal. She saw the coins. Her jaw clenched so tight I thought her acrylics were going to snap. "You can't do that," she sputtered.
"Show me the rule," I challenged. "Show me the CC&R clause that prohibits the removal of hazardous heavy metals from the retention pond via magnetic extraction." She was fuming. She knew I had her on a technicality, and it was eating her alive. But Ashley wasn't one to give up easily.
She narrowed her eyes, her gaze shifting from the magnet to the pile of rusted junk on the grass. "Fine," she hissed. "You want to play games?" "You're violating the rule against unauthorized pond maintenance. Only HOA-approved vendors are allowed to alter the state of the landscaping or waterways.
I am fining you for unapproved maintenance, and I am calling a special board meeting to have you banned from the common areas." She spun on her heel, marched back to her golf cart, and slammed her foot on the accelerator, tearing off across the grass and leaving deep tire ruts in her wake. I watched her drive away, the amber light flashing. I looked down at my bucket. I had about 20 bucks in change, a pile of scrap iron, and a very angry HOA president.
If Ashley wanted to call it unauthorized maintenance, I realized I was going to have to escalate this. I needed to outmaneuver her administratively before she had time to rewrite the covenants. I needed to legitimize the hustle. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for Dave. I mean, if Ashley wanted to start throwing around phrases like "unapproved maintenance" and threatening me with board action, I literally had no choice but to get official.
Like, honestly, you don't bring a poorly laminated pink slip to a municipal ordinance fight. I stood there in my garage staring at the bucket of sludge and rusty quarters, and I pulled out my phone. I scrolled past my mom, past my dentist, right down to Dave. Dave is exactly the kind of guy you want on speed dial when you're dealing with an HOA board that has a god complex. He runs a local debris removal and independent contracting business called Dave's Demo and Haul.
He's a licensed, insured, and bonded contractor in the state of Florida, which for my purposes basically made him an untouchable wizard of municipal compliance. I hit the call button, listening to it ring while I nudged a heavily oxidized spark plug with the toe of my boot. "Talk to me," Dave answered. He sounded like he was chewing on a cigar, even though I knew for a fact he only chewed on wooden coffee stirrers.
"Dave, my man," I said, putting him on speakerphone and setting the phone on the workbench. "I need to hire you—or, technically, I guess I need you to hire me." Dave grunted. "I literally just finished hauling three tons of drywall out of a botched flip in Bonita Springs."
"I am exhausted. What kind of nonsense are you getting me into now? Please tell me this doesn't involve your neighbor, Ashley. Honestly, that woman gives me hives just looking at her." "It 100% involves Ashley," I laughed, wiping a speck of pond muck off my forehead with the back of my wrist.
"Listen, she banned fishing at the Pelican's Perch Retention Pond. Like, she explicitly put up a sign. So, naturally, I bought a 1,200-lb pull force neodymium magnet and started fishing for scrap metal and dropped coins. Honestly, Dave, it's a goldmine down there. It's like a sunken piggy bank."
"Okay," Dave said slowly, the idling engine noise cutting out as he presumably turned off his truck. "And did she arrest you?" "She tried to fine me for fishing. I hit her with Florida Statute 379.101, proving that a magnet catching a rusted spark plug isn't actually harvesting wildlife. So, she pivoted.
She's threatening to fine me for unauthorized pond maintenance because I'm not an HOA approved vendor. I need to become an approved vendor, Dave. I need the shield of a legitimate business entity." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
Dave appreciated a good loophole almost as much as I did. "You want to subcontract under Dave's Demo and Haul," he stated, amusement finally bleeding into his voice. "Exactly," I said, pacing around the garage. "I need you to draft me the most ridiculous, overly formal, heavily legal-sounding contract you can possibly manage. I want to be your official subcontractor for subaquatic ferrous extraction, and I want you to pay me exactly $1 US for my services."