You generate excess power anyway. I’ve seen your panels. I tapped the papers. You’ve used roughly 80 kwatt hours from my system this month. She tilted her head slightly. And and that’s electricity I paid to produce. She laughed. Actually laughed. Oh, please. She said, “You didn’t pay for sunlight. That line, I’ll admit, almost made me lose my patience. But I kept my voice steady. I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m asking you to stop using it. She stared at me for a second, then gave that same tight HOA smile.
Well, maybe if you didn’t want people using it, you shouldn’t have installed something that looks like a public charger. Then she closed the door right on my face. I stood there on her porch for a moment listening to the deadbolt click. And that was when the situation officially crossed from annoying to ridiculous. But it still could have ended there. Honestly, if Diane had just stopped, I probably would have let the whole thing go. Instead, about 5 days later, I opened my mailbox and found an official envelope from the homeowners association.
Inside was a violation notice. Apparently, I was being formally cited for something called energy exclusivity practices inconsistent with community resource sharing. I had to read that sentence three times before it even made sense. According to the letter, my solar system represented externally accessible infrastructure and denying HOA members access could be interpreted as restricting shared utility benefits. Shared utility benefits. I just stood there at the mailbox laughing like a crazy person because only Diane Mercer could invent a rule that claimed my personal solar system belonged to the neighborhood.
That evening, I called my friend Marcus. Marcus used to work with me at a plant outside Phoenix before he moved into residential electrical design. If you ever want someone to analyze a bad idea with enthusiasm, Marcus is your guy. I told him the whole story. The charger, the logs, the HOA letter. There was about 5 seconds of silence on the phone. Then Marcus started laughing so hard I had to pull the phone away from my ear. Oh man, he said finally.
You’re telling me the HOA president is stealing your solar power? borrowing. I corrected dryly. That’s incredible. Not helpful. He was still chuckling. So, what are you going to do? I tried talking to her and she thinks sunlight is public property. Marcus whistled. Well, technically speaking, the sun does belong to everyone. Marcus, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. There was a pause. Then his voice shifted slightly. You know, he said, “If someone kept plugging into a system like that without permission, you could design a load response circuit.” I leaned back in my chair.
