HOA—Karen kept stealing my packages so I Rigged it with glitter Bomb
I had been waiting all week for my brand new sneakers to arrive. They weren’t just any sneakers. They were the kind I’d been saving up for. Limited edition, slick design, and the type of shoes that turn heads the second you step outside. Delivery day finally came, and like usual, I was stuck at work.
No big deal, I thought. Packages always got dropped neatly at my porch. Sometimes tucked to the side, but always there when I got home. I kept refreshing my phone like a kid waiting for Christmas. And sure enough, I got the delivery notification. Package delivered at your front door. Relief washed over me.
But the moment I pulled into my driveway later that day, something felt off. My porch looked too clean, too empty. I hurried up the steps, expecting maybe the box was hidden behind the chair or tucked near the mat. Nothing. I searched around, checked the bushes, even looked over the fence. Not a trace. Welcome to Prodigy Tales.
Make sure you like and subscribe for your top-notch HOA drama. At first, I thought maybe the delivery driver made a mistake. So, I pulled up the confirmation email and sure enough, there it was. A timestamp and even a photo of my sneakers sitting proudly on my porch. My sneakers were there. They had been delivered, but now they were gone. I felt the blood rush to my face.
Someone had swiped my package right off my doorstep. Frustration turned into anger as I called the delivery company, hoping they’d at least help me track it down. They confirmed exactly what I already knew. The package was delivered and left safely on my porch. Their driver had even sent proof. The company basically washed their hands clean of it and left me with nothing but a fake smile and a sorry for the inconvenience.
That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t dealing with some random porch pirate roaming the neighborhood. This had to be someone nearby, someone watching, someone who knew when I wasn’t home. Before we dive in deeply, let us know in the comments where you’re watching this story from. After losing those sneakers, I told myself it was a one-time thing.
Maybe someone passing by saw the package and couldn’t resist. But weeks later, my nephew’s birthday came up, and I decided to order him a set of toys he’d been begging for. Bright, colorful action figures. Nothing too expensive, but special enough that I wanted him to have them on time. Delivery day was almost identical to the last time.
I was at work refreshing my phone during breaks, and then came the familiar notification, “Package delivered at your front door.” A small knot formed in my stomach, but I brushed it off. Lightning couldn’t strike twice. Right? Wrong. When I got home, my porch was bare again. Not even a scrap of tape or cardboard left behind. My stomach dropped.
That’s when I knew this wasn’t random. It was deliberate. Someone was watching me, waiting for my orders to arrive and swooping in like a vulture. I paced my living room, torn between fury and disbelief. It wasn’t just about packages anymore. It was about principle. If I let this continue, what else could they take? My peace of mind was already slipping away.
2 days later, I decided enough was enough. If there was anyone who could help me, it was the HOA president, Karen. She was always boasting about keeping the neighborhood safe and orderly, constantly patrolling and bossing people around at meetings. Maybe for once her meddling could serve a purpose. So, I walked over to her house, knocked on the door, and was greeted by Karen herself, wearing that permanent frown that made her look like she’d smelled something rotten.
I explained my situation, told her about both missing packages, and asked if the HOA could review cameras or send out some notice about theft. She nodded like she cared, though her eyes darted around as if she had somewhere better to be. Then, as if fate wanted to taunt me, her teenage son came strolling into the living room mid-con conversation, and my jaw nearly hit the floor.
on his feet, bold as daylight, were the exact same sneakers I had ordered for myself. The limited edition pair that never even made it inside my house. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn’t just accuse them outright. Not without proof. If I was wrong, I’d look like a fool. But deep down, I knew.
I knew I was staring at the thief’s family. I couldn’t storm into Karen’s house and start pointing fingers. No, this had to be done right. So, I went back to square one and did what I should have done from the beginning. Installed cameras. Not the bulky, obvious kind, tiny, almost invisible ones I picked up online. I mounted them around my porch, tucked under the trim, and disguised near the plants.
From the street, you’d never know they were there. With my surveillance ready, I set the bait. This time, I ordered something small and cheap. Just a phone charger and a pair of headphones. Nothing flashy, nothing worth real money, but perfect to lure out whoeverhad been robbing me. The package arrived in the afternoon.
Same routine as before. I got the notification at work, heart pounding as I pulled up my phone to check the live feed. For a while, nothing happened. Then, just when I thought maybe the thief had given up, a familiar figure appeared on the screen. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t her son. It wasn’t a stranger. It was Karen herself.
The HOA president, the same woman who looked me dead in the eye while I complained about theft, was casually walking up my porch and swiping my package like it was hers. She tucked it under her arm, glanced around like a guilty raccoon, and strutted off back to her house. I stared at the footage in disbelief, cycling through the clips over and over.
She wasn’t just covering for her kid. She was the thief the entire time. My anger boiled over, but alongside it came something else. opportunity. If Karen wanted to play dirty, I’d play nuclear. So, I started planning. Instead of reporting her right away, I decided to hit her where it hurt most, her pride.
I ordered harmless components one by one. Spring loaders, glitter powder, a stink spray canister, and a packet of industrial dye. Uh, I spent an entire night in the garage rigging them inside a cardboard box with the focus of a mad scientist. I sealed it neatly with Amazon style tape, even weighed it down with junk so it felt real when picked up. This wasn’t just revenge.
This was going to be art. The trap was set and all I had to do was wait. I placed the package squarely on my porch in plain sight, then sat back at work with my phone propped up on the desk, live feed rolling. Hours passed and just like clockwork, Karen appeared. She strutdded across my lawn as if she owned the place, scanning the street for witnesses.
My heart thumped as she bent down, snatched the box, and walked off smuggly. I grinned. She had no clue what was about to hit her. Moments later, the cameras caught it. The second she opened the box, a spring-loaded mechanism exploded with a bang. Glitter shot straight into her face like a confetti cannon at a kid’s birthday party, coating her hair, skin, and clothes in blinding rainbow sparkles.
But it didn’t stop there. A burst of industrial stink spray followed, filling the air with the foulest odor imaginable, like rotten eggs soaked in vinegar. Then came the dye, a bright neon green liquid that splattered across her cheeks and stained her hands. She staggered back, shrieking and waving her arms, looking less like an HOA president and more like a deranged cartoon villain.
I laughed so hard at my desk, I nearly fell out of my chair. But I wasn’t done. I rushed home, eager to witness the aftermath in person. By the time I pulled up, half the neighborhood had gathered outside, phones out, recording Karen as she screamed and tried to scrub her face with a garden hose. The dye wasn’t budging. The stink clung to her like a curse, and glitter sparkled across her every move.
She looked like a walking, smelly disco ball. That night, I clipped the footage and sent it straight to the HOA board with a polite note. Here’s your president keeping the neighborhood safe. By the next meeting, she was was cornered. Every board member had seen the video and she couldn’t squirm out of it. Not only was she forced to pay me double the value of every stolen package, but she was also stripped permanently of her HOA presidency.
And the best part, even during the meeting, weeks later, the die stain still hadn’t fully washed off. She sat there glowing like a neon clown, humiliated beyond repair. The end. Please like and subscribe for more HOA showdowns like this. Do you think she got what she deserves?
