She asked if I had a property survey. I did. Sent that, too. Another pause. Then she said, “We’ll send an inspector out.” 3 days later, a city truck pulled up behind the Carter house. White pickup, clipboard, hard hat sitting on the dashboard. The inspector introduced himself as Mike. Nice guy, probably mid-50s.
We walked the property line together while he took notes. He measured the post, measured the overhang, then he looked up at the balcony. “Did they file a permit for this?” “I have no idea,” I said. He nodded slowly. Well, we’re about to find out. He walked next door and knocked. Travis opened the door. From my yard, I could see the smile he usually wore slowly fade when he noticed the city truck. They talked for about 10 minutes.
I couldn’t hear the conversation, but I could see Mike pointing toward the post, then up toward the balcony. At one point, Travis gestured toward my yard like he was explaining something. Mike shook his head. Then he pulled something out of his folder. A bright orange notice, the kind you can see from across the street.
He taped it to the sliding door that led out to the balcony. Even from where I stood, I could read the words. Violation notice. Work ordered halted. Travis stared at the paper like it had personally insulted him. That afternoon, he came over, knocked on my door. Different energy this time. No big smile.
He said, “You called the city?” I leaned against the door frame. Yeah. He exhaled through his nose. You could have talked to me first. I almost laughed. I did. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Finally, he said, “This is a minor encroachment. 2 ft of concrete in my yard isn’t minor. It’s just a post.
