I think his exact words were something like, “When you shove diversity in your writing for no reason, it’s as if you’re intent on creating characters readers can’t connect with. If your work in this class is an accurate representation of your writing, then I hope you’ve applied to more realistic and attainable schools.”
Thankfully I got into USC and was able to rub my acceptance in his miserable face for the rest of the school year, but still. Remembering the hell he put me through causes my blood to boil all over again.
And people wonder why I left this place the second I could.
I glance around the room, trying to gauge how the other people in attendance are feeling. I came into tonight assuming everyone shared my opinions of the HOA—that they are a bunch of bored jerks, looking for any place to grasp on to the teeniest bit of power. I may not have a ton of pride left, but the little that I do have would dissipate in an instant if I was booed in a suburban clubhouse conference room.
“During the summer, we also see an uptick in flag violations,” Mr. Bridgewerth says, much to the dismay of the audience, who begin to whisper around me. “Please keep in mind that the only flags approved for display are American flags and flags for sports teams . . . just not Michigan.”
A good Michigan joke always lands in Ohio. I’m pretty sure it’s the state’s unofficial icebreaker. So when not a single person chuckles—outside of the brownnoses on the board （cough Nate cough）—I know these are my people. We’re all sick of the HOA’s shit and they’re going to be eating out of the palm of my hand by the time I’m finished with them tonight.
Of course, Mr. Bridgewerth is not deterred. I have to imagine, with a personality like his, he’s well accustomed to open hostility and resentment.
“Most importantly, I know gardening is all the rage, according to the internet.” His words drip with condescension and the whispers turn to groans. “But the Instagram doesn’t dictate the Reserve at Horizon Creek. If you’d like to alter the aesthetic of your home in any manner, including landscaping, you must first seek board approval by going through the steps we have laid out on the HOA website.”
At this point, an older gentleman a couple of rows in front of us can’t hold back his frustration anymore.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud! When I bought this house, we didn’t even have an HOA!” He doesn’t stand up, but Mr. Griffin’s wild hand gesturing allows everyone in the room an easy view of who’s speaking. “Carol, God rest her soul, assured us that if we approved an HOA, you’d just increase amenities and keep the community organized. We were told you’d never try this Big Brother government crap you’re always pulling on us. Now, pardon my language, but if my Alice wants to plant new flowers, she should damn well be able to without asking for your permission.”
Applause explodes around us and the previously sleepy room is bursting with energy only shared anger can provide. Now, this is what I came for!
Mr. Bridgewerth doesn’t react, but Nate begins to nervously fidget beside him. His eyes shift around the room but never meet mine.
“That’s right!” a familiar face I can’t quite put a name to shouts, waving a piece of paper over his head. “I got this letter last week because I washed my car in the driveway.”
“And I was fined because my daughter spent the weekend with me and her car was parked in the street for too long,” Mrs. Long complains.
I don’t attempt to hide my gleeful smile. The louder the crowd grows, the more uncomfortable Nate becomes. At this point, he looks like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. It’s glorious.
“Order!” Mr. Bridgewerth slams the gavel against the table. “If you want to speak, you will be given time at the end of the meeting to raise your concerns in an orderly and organized manner. However, before we get to that portion of the meeting, I have something to announce that wasn’t on the agenda.”
Since this is my first—and likely last—HOA meeting, I don’t realize going off the agenda is a big deal until I see the heads of the other board members snap toward Mr. Bridgewerth with wide eyes and matching confused expressions.
Nate’s bright-red ears can be seen from my spot across the room, and even Janice’s permanently pinched face seems tighter than normal. Curiosity causes me to lean forward in my chair, anticipating what Mr. Bridgewerth could possibly say.
“As you all know, I took on the position of the homeowners’ association board president with the utmost dedication and commitment.” He places the gavel on the table before pushing out his chair and standing up to address the room. “However, it’s with both great sadness and excitement that I inform you that I’m moving to sunny Florida at the end of the week. And so, it’s with a heavy heart that I must announce my resignation from the board, effective immediately.”
“Oh shit!” I don’t mean to swear, but talk about a twist I didn’t see coming.
Luckily for me, my mom won’t get an earful about my language because I’m not the only one unable to contain my reaction. The room erupts in a flurry of commotion.
Ashleigh and I sit, gobsmacked, as everyone around us shoots out of their seats, hurling question after question to the front of the room. Mr. Bridgewerth is still standing, motioning for the crowd to relax, while the rest of the board stares at him with undisguised confusion and frustration.
After who knows how many minutes of continuous yelling and bordering-on-obscene hand gestures, Mr. Bridgewerth has had enough.
He grabs the weathered gavel and slams it against the table so hard, I’m shocked it doesn’t splinter.
“Enough!” His voice cuts through the room. “One at a time or not at all! This isn’t elementary school. Please, use some decorum or this meeting will end now.”
When I told Ashleigh there’d be fireworks, even I didn’t think it would be this eventful. Nobody seems prepared for the wild turn of events tonight, least of all the involved community members filling up Conference Room 2 in the Reserve at Horizon Creek clubhouse.
While my neighbors aren’t pleased, his warning takes hold. The yelling over one another comes to an end. Those with questions, concerns, or both take turns standing up and airing their grievances to the room.
“The letter I received said I needed to bring it to the board within two weeks in order to dispute,” a middle-aged woman with fantastic highlights says from behind us. “If your resignation is effective immediately, then will there be a pause on our ‘violations’？” She uses air quotes around the word violations and I automatically appreciate her and her artistic choices. “How will things be decided until a new president is appointed?”
Echoes of “yeah” and very earnest murmurs of “what she said” travel around the room. I attended tonight with the sole desire to heckle Nate and cause him to squirm in front of an audience, but I can’t help but feel bad for him. It’s obvious that he was completely taken by surprise with this announcement. I’d be furious if I was on the receiving end of all this vitriol because Mr. freaking Bridgewerth didn’t communicate his plans with me.