For now, though, I savored the victory. Karen had been shocked back into her place. And for the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully with the steady hum of my generator lulling me into dreams.
Morning light has a way of making the ridiculous look even more absurd. By sunrise, word of Karen's midnight fiasco had spread like wildfire. I couldn't even step onto my porch without catching the whispers of neighbors strolling by. Some laughed openly, retelling the story with exaggerated hand gestures—Karen flopping on the ground like a fish, sparks flying from the shed. Others spoke in hushed tones, shaking their heads. For the first time since she'd arrived, people weren't intimidated by Karen; they were entertained.
Around mid-morning, I spotted her across the road. She looked rough: hair still frizzy from the shock, eyes sunken with lack of sleep, clipboard missing from her hand. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Then I remembered the orange paint on my door, the fake fines, the stolen power. Sympathy faded fast.
She tried to salvage her dignity, of course. Karen always did. She marched down the gravel road, telling anyone who would listen that I had set a booby trap on my property, that it was illegal, that I had endangered the whole community. But the more she ranted, the more people laughed. One neighbor even asked her if she was going to write herself a citation for attempted theft.
By afternoon, the final nail in her coffin arrived in the form of two sheriff's deputies. Their SUV pulled into the neighborhood, lights flashing softly in the daylight.
Karen rushed out to meet them, her arms waving, her voice shrill enough to startle the birds from the trees. "Officers, thank goodness you're here! He tried to electrocute me! He's running an unsafe generator! Arrest him immediately!"
The deputies listened patiently, nodding, jotting notes. Then they walked over to me, where I sat calmly on my porch sipping coffee.
"Sir," one of them said, "we just need to ask a few questions."
I explained everything: the generator, the modifications, the trespassing. I showed them the cord Karen had run into her property. I even handed over the stack of fake HOA fines and flyers I'd saved. The deputies flipped through them, eyebrows climbing higher with each page.
"So, let me get this straight," the taller deputy said. "She broke onto your property, tapped into your generator without permission, then claimed you assaulted her when she got shocked by your own equipment?"
"Pretty much," I replied.
The shorter deputy let out a low whistle. "That's theft of services, trespassing, and vandalism at minimum."
Karen, who had followed us over, exploded. "This is outrageous! I am the president of the HOA! He's lying!"