“The HOA president’s daughter parked in my driveway like she owned the neighborhood. She laughed when I asked her to move — but she didn’t realize I had every legal right to have her car towed… and recorded everything.”

I live in one of those neighborhoods where every lawn is trimmed exactly the same height, every mailbox is painted the same color, and the HOA acts like a miniature government with too much free time.

Most days, I keep to myself. I pay my fees on time, wave to the neighbors, and quietly count the days until I can move somewhere where “decorative mailbox violations” aren’t a thing.

But last Saturday, I learned just how far some people will go when they think rules don’t apply to them.

It started at 8:00 a.m. sharp. I was sipping my coffee, enjoying the quiet, when I heard a car door slam right outside my window. I looked out — and there it was. A bright white convertible, parked diagonally across my driveway, blocking me completely.

At first, I thought it was a delivery or maybe a visitor lost on the wrong street. But then I saw her — a young woman in oversized sunglasses, scrolling on her phone, completely ignoring the “PRIVATE DRIVEWAY — NO PARKING” sign that had been there for years.

I stepped outside. “Excuse me,” I called politely. “You’re parked in my driveway. I need to leave soon.”

She didn’t even look up. “It’s just for a few minutes,” she said, with that casual tone that somehow made “a few minutes” sound like my problem.

I took a slow breath. “I understand, but this is private property. Could you please move?”

Finally, she turned — smirking. “Do you know who my mom is?”

Ah. That sentence. The universal signal of entitlement.

Turns out, her mother was the HOA president — a woman named Karen (yes, really) who had once fined me for leaving my trash bin out an hour late.

I could already tell where this was going.

“She won’t care,” her daughter continued, shrugging. “It’s not like you can do anything about it.”

She walked off — toward the community pool — leaving her car squarely across my driveway.

For ten minutes, I stood there in disbelief. Then I remembered something Karen herself had said during a board meeting: “All homeowners must comply with local parking ordinances. Property owners have the right to enforce access on their driveways.”

So, I made a phone call.

Thirty minutes later, a tow truck rolled up, its engine humming like justice. The driver looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and I simply pointed. “That one.”

He nodded. Ten minutes later, the car was gone — legally, cleanly, by the book.

An hour after that, the screaming started.

Karen stormed up my driveway, her daughter trailing behind, eyes wide with disbelief. “You had my daughter’s car towed?!” she snapped.

I handed her a copy of the HOA bylaws — the same ones she’d mailed me three times last year for “unapproved holiday decorations.” I had highlighted the section on driveway rights.

“I just followed the rules,” I said calmly. “The same ones you enforce.”

The silence that followed was delicious.

She didn’t know it yet, but I also had my security camera running — capturing every word her daughter had said, every smirk, every refusal.

And when she threatened to “report me,” I simply smiled. “Go ahead. I already sent the footage to the HOA board.”