I marched straight over to Rick’s house. He was outside, leaning against his precious truck, scrolling through his phone. “Rick, I need you to STOP parking like this.
I hit my mailbox this morning trying to get around your truck. I damaged my car. Please.
Just move up a few feet.”
He didn’t even look at me. “Laura, I’m parked legally. You can get out just fine.
Maybe you should take a driving class or something.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he said, finally looking up with that infuriating smirk. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle your car.”
I wanted to argue. What was the point?
“Fine. Have it your way.”
He went back to his phone, completely unbothered. I walked back to my house and did something I should’ve done weeks ago.
I grabbed my phone and went back outside. Methodically, I photographed Rick’s truck from every angle. The way those rear tires hung over my driveway apron.
The positioning that clearly violated our neighborhood parking regulations. I even took a video, narrating as I showed exactly how difficult it was to back out without hitting something. Our street has signs posted every few houses: “No Blocking Driveways or Sidewalks.” Rick’s truck was in clear violation.
I spent the next hour drafting an email to our HOA. I attached every photo, the video, a timeline of how long this had been happening, and a detailed explanation of the damage I’d suffered because of it. “I’ve attempted to resolve this directly with my neighbor multiple times,” I wrote.
“He refuses to adjust his parking and has been dismissive of my concerns. I’m requesting formal intervention.”
I hit send and felt a small sense of relief. At least I’d done something.
Two days later, I got a response from Greg, our community manager:
“Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Laura. We take these violations seriously. A formal warning’s been issued to the resident.
If the behavior continues, we’ll proceed with enforcement measures.”
I allowed myself to hope that maybe, finally, this would be over. The next morning, there was a yellow notice taped to Rick’s front door. Official HOA letterhead.
Impossible to miss. But that afternoon, his truck was parked in the exact same spot. I watched from my kitchen window as Rick came home from wherever he’d been.
He ripped the notice off his door, barely glanced at it, crumpled it up, and tossed it into his garbage can. Then he got on his phone. I could hear him through my open window, laughing.
“Yeah, the HOA sent me some stupid warning,” he said to whoever was on the other end. “Like I care. I’m not moving my truck for anybody!”
That night, I sent a follow-up email to Greg with photos showing Rick’s truck still in the same position, timestamped after the warning was issued.
“The violation continues,” I wrote. Greg’s response came within an hour:
“Noted. We’ll handle this.”
The next morning, I was sitting on my front porch with my coffee, trying to enjoy the cool morning air before another day of parking frustration.
A white SUV with the HOA logo pulled up. Greg stepped out, clipboard in hand. “Morning, Laura,” he said, walking over.
“Just need to verify a few things.”
“Of course!”
We walked over to Rick’s driveway. Greg crouched down, took measurements with a tape measure, and snapped photos from multiple angles. He made notes on his clipboard.
“Rear tires are definitely encroaching on your driveway apron,” he said, standing up. “Clear violation. And since he’s already been warned and chose to ignore it, we’re moving to the next step.”
“Which is?”
“Towing and fines,” Greg added.
“Should be here in about 15 minutes.”
My heart did a little leap. Right on cue, Rick’s front door opened. He walked out, coffee mug in hand, clearly wondering what was happening.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone already defensive. Greg turned to him with that same calm, professional demeanor. “Good morning, sir.
I’m Greg from the HOA. You’ve been issued multiple notices regarding your vehicle obstructing your neighbor’s driveway. Since you’ve failed to comply, we’re proceeding with a towing order.”
Rick’s face went through several expressions: Confusion.
Disbelief. Then anger. “You’re NOT towing my truck.
This is MY property. My driveway.”
“Actually, the street and easement areas are community property,” Greg explained calmly. “Your vehicle’s in direct violation of posted parking regulations.
The tow truck’s on its way.”
“This is insane!” Rick sputtered. “Over a couple of feet?”
“Over repeated violations and refusal to comply with warnings,” Greg corrected. Rick’s face turned red.
“I’m calling my lawyer!”
“You’re welcome to do that, sir. But you’ll still be responsible for all towing and impound fees, plus the HOA fines.”
I stayed quiet, sipping my coffee, watching this unfold like the world’s most satisfying morning show. Rick stomped inside, then came back out two minutes later, shoes half-tied, phone pressed to his ear, pacing back and forth.
And then, rumbling down our quiet suburban street like avenging justice, came the tow truck. The driver hopped out, exchanged a few words with Greg, then got to work. “Wait, wait, wait!” Rick shouted, practically running over.
“You can’t do this!”
The driver didn’t even pause. He positioned the truck, deployed the wheel lift, and started securing Rick’s precious vehicle. “This is theft!” Rick yelled.
“I’ll sue all of you!”
Greg handed him a packet of papers. “This is your violation notice, fine schedule, and information on how to retrieve your vehicle from the impound lot. You’ll need to pay all fees before release.”
“How much?” Rick demanded.
“Towing fee is $150,” Greg said, reading from his clipboard. “Impound is $50 per day. HOA violation fine is $200 for the first offense that went unresolved, plus an additional $230 for noncompliance with the warning.
That’s $580 total before impound fees.”
Rick’s mouth fell open. “FIVE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY BUCKS?!”
“Plus whatever impound fees accumulate until you pick it up,” Greg added. I had to turn away to hide my smile.
Within 10 minutes, Rick’s truck was lifted off the ground and secured. The driver climbed back into his cab, and the tow truck rolled away down the street, carrying Rick’s enormous pickup like it weighed nothing. Rick stood on the curb, watching his truck disappear around the corner.
The look on his face was priceless. Greg turned to me before getting back in his SUV. “Sorry it took this long to resolve, Laura.
Hopefully this takes care of the problem.”
“I think it will,” I said. “Thank you, Greg.”
He nodded and drove off, leaving Rick standing alone in his driveway, staring at the empty space where his precious truck used to be. By noon, the entire neighborhood knew what had happened.
Someone had filmed the whole thing from their window and posted it to our neighborhood group chat. The comments were brutal:
“About time!”
“He’s been parking like that in front of my house too.”
“Remember when he blocked the Johnsons’ driveway during their daughter’s graduation party?”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one Rick had been tormenting with his parking habits. That afternoon, I saw Rick pacing in his front yard, still on the phone.
His voice carried across to my house, even with my windows closed. “This is extortion!” he shouted. “Over parking?!”
But here’s the thing about HOAs.
Love them or hate them, they have rules. And when you repeatedly violate those rules after being warned, there are consequences. Rick eventually paid.
He had to. $580 in fines, plus three days of impound fees because he tried to argue his way out of it first. When he finally got his truck back, something had changed.
He parked it way down the street now, nowhere near my driveway. In fact, he parked so far away he had to walk almost a full block to his house. I back out of my driveway every morning with one smooth turn.
No hedge scraping. No complicated angles. And zero stress.
It’s amazing what a difference it makes when you can start your day without wanting to scream into the void. Sometimes karma looks like a tow truck, an HOA fine, and the entire neighborhood watching you get exactly what you deserve. And the only way entitled people learn is through their wallet.
Have you ever dealt with an impossible neighbor? Someone who just refused to be reasonable no matter how nicely you asked? I’d love to hear your stories.
Drop them in the comments!
