Oh, it's going to look like a giant penny sitting in the sun." "I am aware of the aesthetics," I would say."Are you interested in the job or not?" Usually they'd laugh, tell me I was out of my mind, and hang up. A few gave me go-away quotes, numbers so astronomically high they assumed I'd just politely decline. I was beginning to think my grand plan of sovereign justice was going to die on the vine due to a lack of skilled labor.
Then, on Thursday afternoon, I called a place listed in the absolute back pages of the local directory. Iron and Ore Custom Exteriors. The phone rang seven times before someone picked up."Yeah, talk. The voice was gruff, gravelly, and sounded like the guy smoked two packs of cigarettes while gargling whiskey."Hi, I'm looking to get a quote on a residential roof replacement.
Standing seam copper for the entire property, unpainted. There was a long pause on the line. I heard the hiss of a welding torch shut off."Who is this?" the voice demanded."My name is Jack. I live in Whispering Pines.
Another pause. Then, a low, rumbling chuckle."You live in one of those beige HOA prisons, and you want to drop a copper lid on it?
You're either a billionaire or you really, really hate your neighbors." "Let's just say I have a deep appreciation for historical legacy materials," I said smoothly."I'm Mike," the guy said."People call me Mad Mike. I don't do shingles.
I don't do foam. I work metal. I'll be there in an hour. Don't waste my time." 55 minutes later, a heavily modified matte black Ford F-350 with a custom welding rig in the bed violently hopped the curb of my driveway and parked half on the concrete, half on my HOA-approved decorative gravel.
A man stepped out. Mad Mike was exactly what he sounded like. He was built like a fire hydrant, wore a heavy canvas work shirt despite the heat, and had a beard that looked like it contained a family of aggressive badgers. He didn't carry a clipboard.
He carried a battered metal tape measure. He didn't bother knocking. He just walked right up to me as I stood on the porch. He took one look at the silver tarp on the roof, then looked down the street at the rows of identical lifeless houses."You're going to get sued into the Stone Age, kid.
Mike said, his voice a low grumble."Actually, I'm fully compliant. I said, holding out a printed copy of the CC&Rs. I had highlighted Article 4, Section 3 in bright yellow. Mike took the paper.
He pulled a pair of grease-stained reading glasses from his shirt pocket, shoved them onto his face, and read the highlighted text.
I watched his eyes scan back and forth. I saw the exact moment it clicked in his brain. He slowly lowered the paper. He looked at me.
He looked at the paper again. And then Mad Mike threw his head back and let out a laugh that echoed down the quiet suburban street. It was a loud, booming, beautiful sound."Unpainted Class A standing seam copper. Mike read aloud, wiping a tear from his eye."Permanent vested right.
Oh, buddy. Oh, this is a work of art. Whoever wrote this was a lunatic, and I love them. "So, you'll do it?
Mike got serious, tapping the paper."Let me tell you something about natural unpainted copper, Jack. When it comes from the factory, it's not that dark rustic brown people think of. Before it oxidizes, before it gets that green patina, fresh unpainted sheet copper looks exactly like a newly minted mirror. It is spectacularly reflective.
In the sun, it's going to be a hazard to aviation." "I am counting on it." I said without blinking. Mike grinned, revealing a gold tooth."You're a sick man. Let's measure this roof." For the next 2 hours, Mike scrambled all over my house, taking precise measurements, calculating pitches and angles.
When he finally climbed down, he sat on the tailgate of his truck and pulled out a battered notebook. He scribbled furiously for a few minutes."All right." Mike said, slapping the notebook shut."I'm going to shoot it to you straight.
Sourcing this much premium Class A copper right now is a nightmare. Supply chains are tight. I'm going to have to pull favors from a mill in Texas. Then we have to fabricate the pans and the seams.
Plus, the labor on a custom metal job like this is brutal. And because it's a spite job, I'm charging you a premium." He wrote a number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I looked at the number. It was substantial.
It was more than a luxury car. It was dipping dangerously into my retirement savings. For a fleeting second, sanity tapped me on the shoulder. Was I really going to spend a small fortune just to legally torture a woman with a brushed aluminum clipboard?
Then I looked at the front of my house. I looked at the spot on the wood where Brenda had aggressively pressed that fluorescent pink violation sticker. It had left a slightly sticky residue when I peeled it off. I pulled a pen out of my pocket and signed the bottom of Mike's estimate sheet."I'll wire you the 50% deposit this afternoon.
I said. "How fast can you get the materials here? Mike tucked the paper into his shirt pocket."For this kind of cash, and this level of glorious anarchy, I'll have flatbeds rolling onto this street in 10 days. But you better batten down the hatches, Jack, because when those trucks show up, the HOA is going to lose their collective minds.
"Let them. I said."I have the law on my side. Mike climbed into his truck, the engine roaring to life with an aggressive throaty growl.
He rolled down the window."Hey, Jack." "Yeah?" "We're going to polish the copper sheets right before we install them. I have an industrial buffer. It'll cost you an extra grand, but we can get it to a literal mirror finish.
Technically, polishing isn't painting. It's just enhancing the natural state." I felt a tear of genuine joy prick the corner of my eye."Mike, you are a visionary. Do it." The next 10 days were a tense, quiet waiting game.