By 10:30, the pool was empty, revealing years of accumulated debris, a few forgotten pool toys, and much to David’s surprise, several items that clearly didn’t belong to him. A pink water bottle with Emma written in purple marker, a pair of swim goggles, a small inflatable unicorn. Karen saw them, too. Her face went white.
Jim, David called out, can you bag up anything that’s not pool equipment? I want to return these items to their owners. The pointed gesture wasn’t lost on anyone. Karen had been caught red-handed with evidence of just how extensively her children had been using David’s pool. “This is harassment,” she said, but her voice lacked its earlier conviction.
“The excavator’s bucket bit into the pool’s concrete. Shell with a grinding screech that made everyone wse. Chunks of concrete and rebar flew into the waiting dumpster. Emma and Tyler had pressed their faces so hard against their window that David could see their breath fogging the glass. Karen’s phone rang. She answered it with shaking hands.
Karen Morrison. Yes, I’m the one who posted in the neighborhood group. No, he’s actually doing it right now. Yes, I think this constitutes property damage somehow. What do you mean? It’s his property. David couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but Karen’s expression grew increasingly desperate as she spoke.
But there has to be some kind of ordinance, something about destroying valuable amenities, community standards. She hung up and immediately dialed another number. City planning office. Yes, I need to file a complaint about a neighbor who’s destroying property that affects community welfare. What do you mean that’s not how it works? Call after call, Karen worked her way through what appeared to be every municipal office she could think of.
