HOA Karen Claims I’m Trespassing on “Her Beach”.. She’ll Find Out Who’s The REAL Owner the Hard Way!

 

It started like any other peaceful weekend at the shore — the kind of trip you plan months ahead, circling dates on the calendar and counting down to the quiet sound of waves and the scent of salt air. My wife and I had both been buried in work, exhausted by city noise, endless meetings, and traffic that made you forget what quiet even sounded like. So when we finally drove down to the beach house, I had one simple goal: rest.

What I didn’t know then was that this weekend would turn into a battle — one that would pit me against a woman who believed she ruled the sand beneath her sandals, a self-appointed queen of the Homeowners Association, convinced that my private property was “her community beach.”

But let me back up.

The beachfront home wasn’t just a piece of property to me; it was a legacy. My grandfather had bought the land back in the 1960s, before the coastline was carved up by developers and plastered with high-end vacation homes and manicured “community” lawns. He built the small wooden cottage himself — nothing fancy, but strong, with wide windows that opened to the sea and a front porch that could make even the most chaotic person breathe slower.

When he passed, the property went to my father, and after him, to me. About 150 feet of private beach frontage came with it — clearly marked, legally documented, and historically separate from anything around it. For decades, the neighboring land remained empty, quiet, wild. But then came the developers, with their glossy pamphlets and blueprints. They turned that once-open stretch of sand into a gated community of nearly 200 homes. The “Shoreline Haven HOA,” they called it — with private docks, manicured dunes, and “exclusive beach access” 200 feet south of my boundary line.

My grandfather’s home, by sheer luck and timing, had been grandfathered out of the development. It stood like an old sentinel between the natural coastline and a world of HOA-enforced order — the one plot they couldn’t touch.

I’d always kept to myself when visiting. The neighbors mostly stayed on their side, and though there were occasional wanderers who drifted a little too far north, it was never a big deal. A polite reminder, a smile, and they usually packed up their coolers and walked back toward the HOA’s designated section.

That Friday, the air was warm and still. The tide was low, revealing that long stretch of golden sand I’d missed so much. My wife, Clara, unpacked groceries while I opened the windows and let the ocean breeze sweep through the rooms. We made dinner, poured wine, and talked long after midnight — the kind of conversation that only happens when life finally slows down.

Saturday morning, I woke early. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, and the world was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the waves. I brewed coffee, grabbed a book, and walked down to the sand. There’s something sacred about that early hour — no voices, no footsteps, just the endless hiss of the sea. I sat near the edge of the water, right in front of my house, the private property markers visible at both ends of my section.

About an hour later, the peace broke.

Voices — a chorus of them, distant at first, then growing louder. I looked up to see a group of about fifteen people walking toward me from the HOA’s direction. They carried folding chairs, umbrellas, coolers, inflatable toys — the unmistakable look of a planned beach day. I didn’t think much of it at first; people often strolled the beach, and I had no issue with that. But when they stopped directly in front of my house and began setting up, I frowned.

Umbrellas stabbed into the sand. Blankets unfurled. A speaker crackled to life with pop music. One man dragged a cooler dangerously close to my dune grass, which I spent a small fortune restoring.

I stood, brushing sand off my legs, and walked over.

“Morning,” I said evenly. “Just a heads-up — this stretch is actually private property. The HOA beach access is about 200 feet that way.” I gestured toward the clear sign that said Shoreline Haven Private Beach Access.

The man looked puzzled but nodded. “Oh, didn’t realize. Thanks.”

That could’ve been the end of it.

But then she appeared.

A woman in her fifties, visor tilted forward like armor, lips pursed in permanent disapproval. She wore a light blue polo with the Shoreline Haven HOA logo stitched over her chest and carried herself like a drill sergeant. She strode up the sand as though she owned the entire coast.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply. “Who are you?”

“I’m the property owner,” I replied, keeping my tone calm. “This section of the beach isn’t part of the HOA. It’s private property. You’re welcome to set up on your community beach, but this area isn’t included.”

She raised her chin. “This is a community beach. I’m on the HOA board, and I think I know where our property lines are.”

I gestured toward the marker — a sturdy wooden post with a brass plate that had been there since before her subdivision existed. “You can see your sign right there,” I said. “My property starts here.”

She didn’t even glance at it. “Those old markers don’t mean anything anymore. The HOA maintains this entire shoreline now. I’ve been coming here for eight years, and no one’s ever told us this wasn’t part of the community.”

I could feel the air thickening. I took a breath, still trying to keep it friendly. “I understand the confusion,” I said, “but the legal boundary hasn’t changed. This land’s been privately owned for over fifty years. You can check county records if you’d like.”

She crossed her arms. “You know what? I think you’re confused. Maybe you’re renting or something, but this section is public now. The HOA voted on it.”

I blinked. “You voted to claim land that isn’t yours?”

She ignored the question, turning to her group. “Everyone, don’t worry. This man doesn’t understand the property lines. You can set up anywhere you want. This is our beach.”

Her voice carried across the sand, firm and performative, and suddenly all eyes were on me. Some of her group looked uneasy, but most followed her lead, shrugging and resuming their setup. One woman even dragged her chair closer to my porch steps, deliberately turning her back to me.

I stood there, stunned. My wife had woken by now and stepped outside, confused by the sight of a crowd spreading across what was unmistakably our property. She walked down, her hair still damp from the shower, and whispered, “What’s going on?”

I told her quietly.

When Karen saw my wife approach, she smirked like she’d found her audience. “Look,” she said, stepping closer. “I don’t know what your confusion is, but I’ll make this simple. This beach has been used by our community for years. Just because you put up a few signs doesn’t make it yours. If you don’t want to cause a scene, I suggest you pack up and move along. There’s public beach further down.”

I stared at her. The nerve of this woman — to stand on my sand, in front of my house, and tell me to leave. My wife tightened her grip on my arm, probably sensing I was seconds away from losing my temper.

“Ma’am,” I said evenly, “I’m not confused. I own this house.” I pointed at it, the same house my grandfather had built with his bare hands. “I own this section of the beach. I have the deed and the property survey to prove it, and I’m happy to show you if that helps.”

She laughed — a short, cold sound. “Oh, now you own it? That’s rich. I know the person who owns this property, and you’re definitely not him.”

That stopped me. “You know the owner?”

“Yes,” she said smugly. “His name is Robert. He’s an older gentleman who rarely comes down here anymore. He certainly didn’t give you permission to be here. You’re trespassing.”

It took me a second to realize what she meant — and when I did, I almost laughed. Robert was my grandfather. The man who had passed away fifteen years ago. The man whose name was still on the original deed, though the title had since been transferred to me.

I realized, with a sick sort of amusement, that she had no idea who I was. She’d probably heard his name tossed around in some HOA meeting years ago, maybe when they were trying to annex the property. She’d never actually met him — but she was confident enough to weaponize his name.

I looked at her, the sea breeze tugging at the edge of my shirt. “Robert,” I said slowly, “was my grandfather. He’s the one who built that house. He passed the property down to my father, and then to me. So no, ma’am, I’m not trespassing. You are.”

For the first time, her expression faltered — just slightly. But then her lips tightened again. “That’s not possible,” she snapped. “We have the right to this beach. The HOA has jurisdiction over all shoreline use within community limits.”

I smiled faintly, though it wasn’t out of humor. “Then I guess we’ll see how your ‘jurisdiction’ holds up when the county surveyor comes by.”

And with that, I turned and walked back toward my house. Behind me, I could still hear her voice rising, calling to her group — but I didn’t respond. Not yet.

Because what she didn’t know was that I had something stronger than words: documentation. The deed, the original survey, and a decades-old agreement signed by the county itself, acknowledging my family’s ownership of that stretch of sand.

What she also didn’t know was that her little HOA had already tried this before — quietly, subtly — by pushing for zoning revisions and boundary “adjustments” that would have folded my property into their community’s map.

And this time, they’d gone too far.

By the end of the weekend, she’d learn exactly who owned that beach — and just how far I was willing to go to protect it.

Because if she thought this was just about a few feet of sand, she was about to find out the hard way that it was about much more than that.

It was about legacy. About pride. About the one thing her HOA board couldn’t buy, vote on, or bully their way into owning.

And that fight? It was only getting started.

Continue below

 

 

 

An HOA Karen claims that I am trespassing on her beach despite me being the owner. Here is what happens when an HOA tries to annex your beach. So, for context, I own a small piece of beachfront property that I inherited.

 It’s not super huge, maybe about 150 ft of beach frontage with a modest house set back from the water. My grandfather bought it decades ago when the area was still relatively undeveloped and it’s been in our family ever since. The property is kind of unique because it sits right next to a large Hway community. When developers came through years ago, they built this massive plant community with hundreds of homes.

 But my grandpa’s property was grandfathered in and never part of this HOA. The Hway has their own beach access about 200 ft down from my property line. Clearly marked with their community signs and everything. My section though is clearly marked too with private property signs at both ends. Though I’ve never been super aggressive about it.

 If someone accidentally wanders over, I usually just politely let them know that they’ve crossed onto private property. Now, I don’t live there full-time. I work remotely and come down for long weekends and holiday breaks. and my wife and I had decided to spend a long weekend at the beach house. It was late spring, perfect weather, and we were looking forward to some quiet time away from the city.

 We arrived Friday evening, unpacked, and spent a relaxing night listening to the waves. On Saturday morning, I woke up early, made some coffee, and decided to take my chair down to the beach. My wife was still sleeping, so I grabbed my book, my coffee, and set up right in front of our house. The beach was empty. The sun was just starting to warm everything up and it was absolutely perfect.

 I’m sitting there reading a book, just enjoying life. About an hour later, I hear voices. I look up and see a group of about 15 people walking down the beach towards me. They’ve got coolers, beach chairs, umbrellas, the whole setup. I didn’t think much of it at first. People walk along the beach all the time, and as long as they keep moving, I don’t really care.

 But then they stop right in front of my house. They start setting up their stuff, planting umbrellas, spreading out blankets, the works. I put my book down and walked over. I kept it friendly because honestly, mistakes happen and maybe they didn’t see the signs. I approached the nearest person, a middle-aged guy setting up a cooler and said, “Hey, just wanted to give you guys a heads up that this is actually private property.

 The HOA beach access is about 200 ft that way.” I pointed down the beach towards the actual section. The guy looked confused but then nodded. And then this woman appeared. I will call her Karen because, well, you will see why. She was probably in her late 50s wearing a visor and one of those shirts with the HOA community logo on it.

 And damn guys, there we got it again. Shirts with HOA logos. I kind of want one myself. However, not an HOA community logo, but kind of like an anti-HOA shirt. By the way, if you have watched until here and enjoyed the HOA stories, please don’t forget to like the video and post a comment because that would help me tremendously while fighting against the YouTube algorithm.

 So anyway, she marched right up to me with this look on her face that I’ve seen before. The look of someone who’s used to being in charge and doesn’t like being questioned. She said, “Excuse me, who are you?” I replied, “I’m the property owner. This section of the beach is private property. I’m happy to have you folks set up down there at the HOA beach instead, though.

 This is a community beach. I am on the HOA board and I think I know where our property lines are. I stayed calm. I understand the confusion, but this section is not part of the HOA. If you look down there, you can see your signs. My property starts here. I gestured to the private property marker about 20 ft away.

 She didn’t even look. Those signs are old. This whole beach belongs to the community now. I’ve been coming here for 8 years, and I’ve never seen anyone claim this section as private. This is where I should mention that I don’t come down every weekend, and when I do, I usually keep to myself. I’m not the type to patrol my beach or chase people off.

If someone sets up on my section accidentally, I usually let it slide if I’m not using that exact spot. But this was different. They were setting up a full party right in front of my house, and this woman was being passive aggressive about it. I tried again. I completely understand the confusion, but this really is private property.

 I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s stay, but your beach access is right there and it’s a great spot. Karen was not having it, though. She turned to her group and announced loudly, “Everyone, don’t worry. This man is confused about the property lines. You can set up wherever you want. This is our beach.” I was stunned.

 She had just completely dismissed me and told her entire group to ignore what I was saying. Now people were looking at me like I was the problem. Some of them actually looked uncomfortable, but most of them just shrucked and went back to setting up their stuff. One woman even started setting up her chair closer to my house like she was making a point.

 My wife had woken up by this point and came out to see what was going on. She walked down to the beach and I quickly filled her in. She was just as baffled as I was. Karen saw my wife and seemed to take this as an opportunity to really drive her point home. She walked over to us and said, “Look, I don’t know what your confusion is, but I’m going to make this very simple.

 This beach has been used by our community for years. Just because you put up a few signs doesn’t make it yours. Now, if you don’t want to cause a scene, I suggest you pack up your things and go somewhere else. There’s plenty of public beach down that way. She pointed in the opposite direction, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

 This woman was telling me to leave my own property. My wife squeezed my arm, probably sensing I was about to lose my cool, but I kept it together. Ma’am, I said, I’m not confused. I own this house. I pointed up at my house. I own this section of the beach. I have the deed, the property survey, just everything. And I’m happy to show you if that would help. She laughed. Actually laughed.

 Oh, now you own it. That’s rich. I know the person who owns this property, and you’re definitely not him. This caught me off guard. You know the owner? She nodded smugly. Yes, I do. His name is Robert, and he’s an older gentleman who rarely comes down here anymore. He certainly didn’t give you permission to be here. You’re trespassing.

 Now, to make things clear, Robert is actually my grandfather’s name. He passed away several years ago, and then I inherited the property. This woman clearly had met my grandfather at some point, probably years ago, and assumed that he still owned it. She had no idea that he had died or that I was his grandson and the current owner. I explained this to her.

Robert was my grandfather. He passed away and I inherited the property. I’m the legal owner now. She rolled her eyes. Sure you are. That’s convenient. Look, I don’t have time for this nonsense. If you really knew Robert, you would know he loved the HOA. Press X to doubt. He was always friendly. In fact, he made a deal with the HOA because he didn’t need the beach anyway.

 And signed it over to us. We own this beach now. Ergo, you’re trespassing on my HOA beach, you stupid My wife whispered to me, “Maybe we should just go inside and call the non-emergency line.” But Karen overheard to her, “Oh, now you want to call someone, huh? That’s a great idea. Why don’t you call Robert? He will tell you that you are trespassing.

 In fact, I insist someone call him right now. He should know that people are on his property claiming to own it. This is serious. You could be squatters or con artists for all I know. And well, guys, let me guess Karen is very familiar with squatters and especially con artists because she’s one herself. But there it was. She was demanding that someone called the owner to report me for trespassing.

 She wanted proof that I didn’t belong there. The malicious compliance opportunity had just presented itself on a silver platter. I felt a smile trying to break through, but I kept my face neutral. You want someone to call the owner? She crossed her arms triumphantly. Yes, call Robert right now. He will straighten this out. I pulled out my phone.

 She looked satisfied like she had won. Her entire group was watching now, probably expecting me to either back down or fumble through some awkward call. One of the guys in her group said something like, “Karen doesn’t mess around.” And a few people left. Here’s where the malicious compliance gets good, though. I turned to my wife who was standing right next to me and said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Honey, this woman wants confirmation about who owns this property.

 Can you please call the owner of this property to confirm who it belongs to?” My wife got on immediately and played along perfectly. She looked directly at Karen dialed my number on her phone. When my phone started ringing, Karen’s face started to change and she seemed to get red like a lobster. But I was not done yet. I told Karen, “I inherited this property from my grandfather, Robert, when he passed away.

” And furthermore, I pulled up my phone and opened my emails app, then turned the screen to show Karen, “Here’s an email from my property insurance company addressed to me about this property. Here’s my property tax payment confirmation from 3 months ago with my name on it. Would you like me to go inside and get the actual deed?” The color was draining from Karen’s face, but she was still trying to hold her ground.

 I don’t care what fake emails you have. This doesn’t prove anything. My wife spoke up again. We can call our property attorney right now if you would like or the county recorder’s office. They have all the ownership records. What exactly would convince you? One of the people from Karen’s group, an older man, stepped forward and said quietly to her, “Karen, I think we maybe just moved down to our section.

 This is getting out of hand.” But Karen shook her head. “No, I’ve been on the board for 6 years. I know Robert personally. This is some kind of scam.” I’d had enough of the back and forth and I said, “Okay, you asked me to contact the owner to resolve this. I am the owner. I’ve told you this multiple times.

 I’ve shown you evidence and you’ve refused to accept it. So now I’m going to take the next step. You have two choices. You can voluntarily move your group to the Hway Beach area right now or I’m calling the police to report trespassing instead. It’s your choice. She laughed, but it sounded forced. Go ahead and call them. When they get here, I will explain the situation and I will tell you that you are wrong.

 I will show them that we have historical use of this beach. Well, I was actually hoping that she would choose to leave, but nope. She wanted to double down. Fine. I dialed in an emergency line for the local police department. The dispatcher answered, and I explained the situation calmly that I had a group of people trespassing on my private beach property, and I’d asked them multiple times to leave, but they refused.

 And I needed an officer to come handle the situation. The dispatcher asked if I had documentation of ownership, and I confirmed I did. She said they would send someone out. While we waited, the atmosphere on the beach got really awkward. Some of Karen’s group started picking up their stuff, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

 One family with young kids left entirely. The mom giving Karen a dirty look as they went. But Karen and about seven or eight others stayed put, setting up their stuff more deliberately, like they were making a statement. Karen spent the time waiting on her phone, probably calling other HOA board members. At one point, she walked over to me and said, “I’ve contacted our HOA attorney.

 You’re going to regret this.” I just nodded, “Okay.” My wife and I went back to our spot and sat down, but the relaxing morning was thoroughly ruined. We just waited. About 20 minutes later, a police cruiser pulled up in front of my house. An officer got out, walked down to the beach. I met him halfway, and introduced myself.

 I explained that I was the property owner, showed him my ID, which matched my address for the property, and gave him the quick version of what happened. He asked to see the property documents. So, I went inside and grabbed the folder from my office. Thankfully, I had reorganized all the files recently after dealing with the property tax assessment, so I had everything together.

 The deed showing the transfer from my grandfather’s estate, the current property survey with the boundary lines clearly marked, and my most recent property tax bill. He looked them over, nodded, and then walked over to Karen’s group. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but I could hear pieces. Karen was going off about verbal agreements and community rights and how her family had been coming to the speech for years.

 The officer kept his tone professional but firm. At one point, he said something about private property rights and Karen’s voice got louder. Then he walked back to me. Sir, I’ve informed them that this is your property and they need to leave. Most of them are gathering their things now. That woman is insisting that she has a right to be here, but I’ve explained that without written permission from you, she is trespassing. I nodded.

 Thank you, officer. I appreciate it. He went back to Karen and said something else. She was shaking her head, arms crossed, refusing to move. The officer’s body language changed, getting more official now. He said something that made her face go white, probably warning her about the consequences of refusing to leave. Finally though, she started picking up her stuff, but she was making a huge production of it, slamming things around, huffing and puffing.

 Her remaining group members were moving quickly, clearly embarrassed. As she was folding up her chair, she shouted at me, “This is not over. the HOA will be contacting you. But I didn’t respond. The officer stayed until every single person had packed up and moved down the beach to the HOA section, essentially doing the thing that Karen tried to do with me, trespassing them off the property.

 Once they were gone, he came back to me. Sorry you had to deal with that, sir. Some people just cannot accept when they are wrong. He handed me a card. Here’s the incident report number. If they come back and give you trouble, call us immediately. I thanked him again and he left. My wife and I stood there on our empty beach just looking at each other.

 She started laughing first and then I joined in. The whole thing was so absurd. We thought that was the end of it, but we were wrong. About an hour later, I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. I answered and it was a man identifying himself as the HR president. I told him there wasn’t much to discuss. His board member had trespassed on my property with a group refused to leave when asked, and it forced me to call the police.

 I kept it factual and unemotional. He tried a different approach, though. He said that there had been a misunderstanding and that the community had been under the impression that they had access to my beach sections. He wanted to know if we could work out some kind of arrangement where the HOA could use my beach during peak times.

 I told him, “No, my property was not a community resource, and I was not interested in sharing it, especially not with an HOA that I wasn’t part of and didn’t want to be a part of.” I explained that they had their own beach access and it should be sufficient. He got a little pushy, suggesting that it would be neighborly to allow access and that refusing might cause tensions with the community.

 I told him that any tensions were created by his board member trespassing and refusing to leave, not by me enforcing my property rights. He didn’t like that answer, though, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The conversation ended with him saying he’d be in touch, which sounded vaguely threatening, but didn’t concern me much.

 I figured that would be the end of it. It wasn’t, though. Over the next couple weeks, I started getting letters from the HOA. The first one was a formal letter requesting that I grant the community access to my beach. It was full of language about community values and working together and being good neighbors, and I ignored it.

 About 10 days later, the second letter came. This one was more aggressive, suggesting that my grandpa had made a verbal agreement with them and that I was obligated to honor it. It also hinted that they might take legal action if I didn’t cooperate. I called my attorney, showed him the letters, and he left.

 He said they had no case whatsoever, and that the letters were just intimidation tactics. 3 weeks after the beach incident, the third letter arrived. This one came from an attorney representing the HOA. It claimed that the HOA had established an easement by prescription through continuous use of the beach over the years. This is a real legal concept actually where if someone uses your property openly and continuously for a certain period of time, they might gain legal rights to continue using it.

 I forwarded this to my attorney and he looked into it. It turns out the AO’s claim was complete garbage, though. First, any such easement would need to be proven with evidence of continuous uninterrupted use for a specific number of years as defined by state law. Second, the use would need to be without the owner’s permission.

 However, if my grandfather had given them permission occasionally, that would actually work against their claim. Third, there were multiple problems with their timeline and their ability to prove consistent use. My attorney sent a response letter that basically demolished their argument and warned them that any further harassment would result in a counter suit that seemed to finally get through to them because their letter stopped.

 But the story doesn’t end there. About 5 weeks after the initial incident, I got a call from the HOA president again. His tone was completely different this time, much more consilatory. He apologized for how things had been handled and said that Karen had been removed from the board for her behavior.

 Apparently, after the incident, several HOA board members had complained about her aggressive approach to the situation and there had been enough votes at their monthly board meeting to have her removed from her position. He explained that several people in the community had witnessed the beach incident and were embarrassed by how it had been handled.

 Some people had even been there that day and confirmed my version of events when questioned by other board members. The attorney they had hired had also apparently told them that they were wasting money on a case they had zero chance of winning. The president asked if we could start fresh. He then assured me that the HOA would respect my property boundaries and that there would be no more attempts to claim access to my beach.

 He also mentioned they had put up additional signage making it clear where HOA property ended and private property began. I told him I appreciated the apology and that I had no interest in causing problems with the community. I just wanted my property rights respected. He agreed and we ended the call on good terms and since then things have been quiet.

 We have been down to the beach house several more times and I haven’t had any issues. I occasionally see people from the HO community on their section of the beach and everyone’s been perfectly friendly since then. There’s been no more confusion about property lines. And the next one is another fantastic malicious compliance story and it is titled, “All items on the floor are trash.

 Have fun rooting through the dumpster.” So, I’m a custodian for an office building. I clean bathrooms, take out trash, vacuum, etc. I clean in the morning before the office opens. When collecting trash, I would occasionally find some loose papers under slash behind desks besides the trash can or otherwise on the floor.

Since I’m not sure if these papers are trashed that missed the can or important documents that fell on the floor by accident, I picked them up and put them on the corner of the nearest desk for the workers to either file them away or toss them. Better safe than sorry. However, the manager didn’t like this habit.

 She came in early one morning expressing disgust that trash is being placed on people’s desk. Obviously, I never put actual trash like food wrappers or crumbled up papers on desks. I explained my reasoning for my habit and expressed that I didn’t want to risk tossing something important. My manager told me that everything on the floor is trash and the workers are not such immature slops to drop important documents on the floor.

 I agreed and said I’d never do it again. Flash forward several weeks. My manager came in early again and expressed concerns because a filing cabinet had tipped over the day and despite picking up the papers, they were still missing a few important documents. She asked if I’d seen them and I reminded her that since everything on the floor is trash, the documents were probably thrown away.

She was irate, saying, “But this was an exception since the fire filing cabinet fell over.” I asked her how I was supposed to know that when I’m not there during the day and was otherwise not informed to look out for these documents. That is when the situation dawned in this woman’s eyes that she was her fault.

 She stumbled through some excuses before demanding I go to the dumpster and find the papers. I told her that the office was opening in 15 minutes and I still had work to do. She stormed off and said she would start looking in the dumpster. Damn guys, isn’t it satisfying to send a Karen on a dumpster dive? Anyway, while I cleaned, I knew I would face her again before leaving.

 My car is parked by the dumpster. So, I thought of what to say to her as the final corn nail in the coffin. And sure enough, when I finished my work and walked out, the manager and a few other workers who had arrived were rooting through the dumpster. When the manager spotted me, she demanded I come help.

 I delivered my prepared line saying, “Ma’am, my job description is to take out the trash. Your job description is to ensure the safety and confidentiality of your client’s files.” I walked away to in my head a cartoonist villain scream of outraged failure from my manager a few hours later and I got a text saying that there will now be a special inbox shelf for me to place any papers found on the floor for the workers to go through.

 And now let’s read another malicious compliance story which is titled, “Won’t give me the cart to get fuel. enjoy the towing bill. So, I was just reminded of something that happened to me back in the early ‘9s. I was managing a warehouse for a furniture company, and we were busy enough to keep a small 12-oot box truck and a pickup running around delivering all day.

 Part of my job was also deliveries. So, even though I was warehouse manager, I did not have access to the fuel credit card. It was kept locked up in the boss’s desk. This particular day, the truck was down to about an eighth of a tank, something you should never do with a diesel. So, I asked for the car to fill it up to make a delivery.

 The boss would ordinarily not have a problem with this, but he was out that day and I had to deal with the head salesman who decided that an eighth of a tank was perfectly adequate to make this delivery and I could fill it up when I get back. So, make the delivery and on the way back the truck starts running out of fuel.

 It would die and I would restart and we could make it a mile and it would die again. I get it into the station and it dies as we coast in. Call the salesman. He huffs and puffs and finally sends somebody out with a card about an hour later. We fill it up and she won’t start. We ran her solo we pulled air and the whole system needed to be bled.

 So the truck gets towed to the repair place and bled. They put in a new filter just to be sure and it is out of commission for 2 days. So yeah, we have to rent a truck. So all told, we missed all the deliveries for the rest of the day. Had to pay to have the truck towed and repaired and had to rent a truck.

 All because this head salesman had to be a dick and not want to give me the card. He got a serious chewing out over that. And never again did he give anybody any trouble about handing over the cart. I wish I could say everything was roses over that, but he was always a douchebag and would find new ways to be a douchebag to us, but never with the fuel cart after that.

 And yeah, guys, if you ever had such awful managers or superiors, then please let me know about your story in the comments.