I pointed at the massive wire ball covered in coins. "Now," I continued, turning to Ashley, "unless you have the receipts for every single person who threw a penny into this pond over the last 30 years, the original owners are untraceable. So, according to the law, these coins are abandoned property." Ashley's face turned a dangerous shade of magenta. "The pond is HOA property.
Therefore, anything in the pond is HOA property. We are claiming it right now." "Are you sure you want to do that, Ashley?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave. I stepped closer to her, the sarcasm completely gone from my tone.
"Are you absolutely 100% sure the HOA wants to officially, legally claim ownership of everything I just pulled out of that water?" "Yes!" she yelled. "It's ours!" "Okay." I nodded slowly.
I turned back to the officers. "Officers, you heard her. You heard her. The Pelican's Perch Homeowners Association is officially claiming legal ownership of the discarded property located at the bottom of this municipal stormwater retention pond." I kicked the rusted shopping cart wheel I had pulled up earlier.
I nudged the corroded spark plugs. I pointed at the dissolving hazardous mass of batteries and unidentified rusted iron sitting in my scrap pile. "Because if the HOA claims ownership of the coins," I said, the trap finally springing shut, "they must also claim ownership of the hundreds of pounds of hazardous heavy metals, corroding batteries, and industrial waste sitting at the bottom of a water system that feeds directly into the Florida aquifer, which means they have been knowingly storing unpermitted hazardous waste in a municipal water supply. I let the silence hang in the humid air for a second before delivering the kill shot. I'm sure the Environmental Protection Agency and the Florida Department of Environmental Protection will be fascinated to learn that the HOA has formally admitted to owning an illegal, unlined underwater landfill.
Do you know what the daily fine is for an illegal commercial dumping site, Ashley? Because it's a lot more than $150." Ashley stared at me. Her mouth was slightly open. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her looking pale and suddenly very old under the harsh Florida sun.
She looked at the rusted metal. She looked at the coins. She looked at the cops. She realized she was trapped. What if she claimed the money?
She claimed the liability for the pollution. If she denied the pollution, she forfeited the money. The older officer coughed, hiding a very obvious smile behind his hand. He adjusted his duty belt and looked at Ashley. "Ma'am," he said, his voice entirely devoid of sympathy.
"As I stated, this is a civil dispute. The gentleman is complying with municipal codes regarding debris removal, and he has correctly cited the statutes regarding abandoned property. Unless you wish to officially file a report claiming ownership of this hazardous waste, we are leaving." Ashley didn't say a word. She couldn't.
She just stood there, her hands shaking, her eyes wide with shock and fury. "Have a good day, folks," the older officer said, tipping his hat to the crowd. He looked at me, nodding toward the giant wire ball. "A hell of a catch, son. Make sure you lift with your legs." They walked back to their cruiser, got in, and drove away.
The crowd of neighbors slowly dispersed, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Ashley was still standing there, frozen. I grabbed my heavy rubber mallet from my bucket. I walked over to the giant ball of rusted wire and swung the mallet hard, smashing it against the thick cluster of fused quarters. Crack.
The rust shattered and a shower of silver coins rained down onto the grass. "I'll be out here again tomorrow at 4:00, Ashley." I said casually, dropping the coins into my bucket. "Unless, of course, you want to hire Dave's Demo and Haul officially to finish the job. Our corporate rate is $150 an hour."
She spun around, practically running back to her golf cart. She slammed it into reverse, peeled out across the grass, and sped away down the street without looking back. The battle on the bank was won, but I knew Ashley.
She wasn't done. She had the board. She had the HOA meetings. And she was going to try and change the rules of the game. But I had something better than a rule book.
I had a massive, comically large glass jar, and I was about to ruin her entire Tuesday night. Honestly, spending the next 3 days in my garage felt like I was running an illicit subterranean bank out of my own home. The sheer volume of metal I had pulled out of that pond was literally staggering. I had 5-gallon plastic buckets lined up against my workbench, all of them filled to the brim with wet, foul-smelling crusted currency. My hands smelled permanently like pennies and stagnant algae, no matter how many times I washed them with industrial pumice soap.
But, I guess that's the smell of victory, right? I had to buy three more cheap rock tumblers off the internet just to process the sheer mass of it all. Like, I set up a whole assembly line. First, the coins went into a bucket of hot water and heavy-duty degreaser to get the bulk of the 30-year-old pond slime off them. Then, they went into the tumblers with a mixture of white vinegar, coarse salt, and a squirt of dish soap.
They'd grind away for hours, sounding like a washing machine full of gravel, until they came out shiny, recognizable, and most importantly, legally tender. After they were clean, I had to sort them. I mean, I bought an electronic coin sorting machine, the kind they use in small retail stores, and it was literally running non-stop. It so it would jam every 10 minutes because it would catch a rusted washer or a weird misshapen euro coin that had somehow survived the acid wash. I spent my entire Sunday and Monday doing nothing but feeding this machine, watching the digital counter tick up, up, up.