Nothing she'd predicted was happening. No blocked driveways, no drunken shouting, no bikes tearing up lawns. Meanwhile, the donation box kept getting heavier. Around 12:30, one of the rescue volunteers showed me his phone. "We're already past what you raised last year."
"Seriously?" "By about $600." and people were still arriving. That was when I realized Denise had done something neither of us could have planned. She'd turned a 12-person fundraiser into a story. The story brought people.
The people brought money. For about 10 minutes, I thought maybe she'd finally leave it alone. Then she walked onto my lawn. Cobalt blue blazer, phone in hand, no hose. Progress.
Jack, I wipe my hands. "What's up?" "You need to move this." She pointed at one canopy leg. "Why?"
"Part of your setup is on common property." I looked down. The serving area had expanded during the morning. We'd shifted a table and canopy forward. Denise showed me a neighborhood parcel diagram on her phone.
A narrow landscaped strip near the sidewalk was HOA common property. One canopy leg and the end of a serving table had crossed onto it. I checked the diagram, then the ground. Damn. For once, Denise wasn't inventing anything.
You don't have permission to use common property for this event. "All right." She blinked. "What?" I said, "All right.
You need to remove it. I heard you." I turned toward Pete. Hold the line. He stopped serving.
Conversations quieted. For the first time that day, Denise had actually stopped the event. And technically, she was right. Bear walked over. "Problem?"
"We're over the property line." "How far?" "Couple feet." He nodded. "Okay."
Denise looked at him. "This is HOA property." "I understand. You can't use it." "Understood."
That seemed to frustrate her more than an argument would have. I looked over the setup canopy, table, cooler, trash station, corner of the donation area. "We move everything back eight feet." Bear asked one question. "What needs to go where?"
I pointed. He turned around and raised one hand. "Need some help over here." I'd spent most of my adult life working with tools. I'd never seen 50 people relocate a barbecue that fast.
Four riders lifted the canopy without collapsing it. Two grabbed the serving table. Others moved coolers. Marcus picked up the donation box. Linda grabbed the potato salad.
Frank reached for a table. Linda looked at him. "Don't." I can lift a table. You had chest pain 2 years ago.
I've also lifted things in the last 2 years. Bear stepped beside him. "I've got it, Frank." Frank looked offended. "I'm not dead."
Linda nodded. "Let's keep the theme going." In under four minutes, everything had moved. I measured again. Every canopy leg, every table, every cooler, every sign, all on my property.
Bear looked at Denise. "Anything else?" She looked over everything. "No." Bear nodded.
"Good." Then he looked at Pete. "Pork's getting cold." Pete reopened the roaster. Serving resumed.
Nobody cheered. Nobody booed "Denise." Everybody simply went back to eating, which somehow bothered her more. This doesn't change the larger issue, she said. "What larger issue?"