Neighborhood Hated My House Color and Repainted It While I Was Away — I Was Enraged & Took My Revenge

 Middle Aged Club

 Neighborhood  Hated My House Color and Repainted It While I Was Away — I Was Enraged & Took My Revenge

Neighbors Hated My House Color and Repainted It While I Was Away — I Was Enraged & Took My Revenge

After a two-week holiday, Victoria returned home to a nightmare: her inquisitive neighbours had repainted the bright yellow house her late husband had lovingly decorated. She chose to strike back, infuriated by their arrogance, and gave them a lesson they would never forget.

Hi everyone, I’m Victoria, the lovely 57, and I have a question. Imagine coming home to an entirely different house as you pull into your driveway after a long day of travel. That’s precisely what occurred to me lately, and I’m still furious, I have to say.

On a corner lot, I reside. The newlywed couple Mr. and Mrs. Davis moved into the house next door two years ago. They made crude remarks about my bright yellow house from the very beginning.

They’d chuckle and exclaim, “Whoa! We’ve never seen a house so bright! Did you apply the paint yourself?

“Yup, me and a gallon of sunshine!” Shutting them up, I would say. “What are your thoughts? Must I paint the mailbox after that?”

However, I must say that those two next door would not stop bugging me about the colour of the house. He would always had to make a joke when Mr. Davis came over.

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He would sneer, prodding his wife, who would respond with a hyena-like cackle, “Bright enough for you, Victoria?!”

She had not improved. Rather than making jokes, she would simply give me a sympathetic glance and ask, “Victoria, have you ever considered changing it? Perhaps something more impartial?”

Like my house needed to have its individuality surgically removed since it was such an ugly.

Their contempt was immediately apparent. They behaved as though the colour of my house were rainbow sprinkles on a funeral plate.

Mrs. Davis approached me one day as I was planting petunias. Her finger was neatly manicured as she pointed at my house with a smile as bright as a soggy Tuesday.

“Victoria, that colour is so ugly! It goes with everything! It must be removed. For a change, how about something like… beige…?” she exclaimed.

I arched an eyebrow while holding a watering can.

“Mrs. Davis, is that the reason for the commotion outside?” The looks on people’s faces led me to believe that a UFO had touched down. But it’s only a tiny bit of paint!”

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“A tiny bit of paint? Our neighbourhood appears to have been invaded by a gigantic banana! Consider the worth of your property! You must be able to see how… gaudy it is, she scowled.

I tried to remain composed and shook my head. Mrs. Davis, there is no legal prohibition against it. It is yellow, to my liking. It was the colour that my late husband loved.”

Beet crimson flushed over her face. “Victoria, this isn’t over by a long shot!” she said before rushing away.

My cheerful yellow house proved to be too much for Mr. Boring, Mrs. Prim, and Proper to bear. They complained to the city about a “safety hazard” (happiness, presumably), to the police about the “blinding” colour, and they even attempted to sue me! That lawsuit in July was as quick to melt as a snowball.

Their last effort? Homeowners Against Bold Colours group, but my fantastic neighbours advised them to shut up.

These days, the two are estranged from everyone and as popular as a skunk at a picnic.

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“Can you believe it?” said Mr. Thompson, my former neighbour, as he strode over to my yellow house and grinned as broadly as the sun. “Those two genuinely believed that we would follow their beige trend! Unbelievable!”

Across the street, Mrs. Lee laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Honey, a bright house and a happy heart, that’s the motto around here, not whatever shade of bland they’re peddling.”

“Yeah, well, maybe this will finally shut them up!” I exhaled. I had no idea that was only the first act of their massive opera of rejection.

Get comfortable, since things are going to get extremely worse.

I had to spend two weeks out of town for work.

I was stuck in that stuffy metropolis for two stinking weeks. At last, the path opened up before me, guiding me towards my safe refuge once more. Should have been the first thing I saw, my yellow house, brilliant as a sunflower against the dull beige of the neighbourhood.

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Rather, a massive GREY brick protruded from the curb. I nearly passed it by whilst driving.

The cheery yellow colour that my late husband had painted my house now looked more fitting for a forgotten cemetery!

Tyres squealing in protest, I slapped on the brakes. Grey?

My stomach fell out. I was so angry that I realised right away who was behind this makeover I hadn’t requested. Did those pallid neighbours really believe a gallon of paint could destroy my soul? Not a possibility. My heart raced.

I’ve been stuck in the city for two weeks, and this is what I come home to?

I strode directly to the Davises’ residence, my footsteps resonating on the pavement. They were the obvious suspects, the bullies in beige who couldn’t take a little colour in their boring world.

I virtually pushed myself at their door, beating my clenched fist against it. Not a response. How daring! To think that a can of paint might transform my house and my soul.

Mr. Thompson, my neighbour, approached and shook his head. I witnessed everything, Victoria. I also got pictures. I tried to call you, but the call was not received. Despite the painters’ legitimate work order, the police were called. Nothing at their disposal.”

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“What do you mean, a valid work order?” With wrath in my voice, I questioned.

Mr. Thompson apologetically nodded. “They presented the documentation to the police. The Davises apparently said you paid them to repaint while you were away.”

My blood began to boil. “They forged my name on the work order?”

Mr. Thompson gave a nod. It appears so. Victoria, I sincerely apologise. They refused to listen to me when I tried to stop them.”

With my eyes narrowing, I responded, “Let me see those pictures.”

He took me through pictures of the painting company’s setup and progress on my land. “They had a work order in the name of ‘Mr. and Mrs. Davis,’ paid in cash,” he continued.

I balled up my hands. “Of course they did.”

I looked at my security tape. And what do you know? My land was never entered by the Davises. Astute. Not invading. No fees. I summoned the police once more, but because the painters behaved in good faith, they were unable to take any action.

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I was CRAZY. How was my residence harmed by these two nitwits?

I required a strategy. It was after I stormed back to my house that I noticed it. There were vestiges of old yellow paint showing through the poor quality paint job.

I should have scraped off the previous paint first because I am an interior designer.

I grabbed my ID and my house documents and stormed over to the painting company’s office.

“You performed a terrible job painting my house without my permission. This can damage the exterior of the house. I growled, “You know what? I’m going to sue you.”

Surprised and trembling with guilt, the manager, Gary, apologised and said, “But… but we thought it was your house.”

“Of course, it’s MY house, but I DIDN’T ask for any paint job,” I screamed, furrowing my brows.

At this time, I was furious and demanded a copy of the work order. It was, indeed, in the Davises’ name. When I informed the manager what had happened, he was taken aback.

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“Mr. and Mrs. Davis claimed it was their house and declined the scraping service to save money… said they’d be out of town and wanted it done while they were gone,” Gary added.

My blood started to boil. And you didn’t consider asking the real homeowner to confirm any of this? You didn’t consider looking up the ownership records or the address?”

Gary appeared sincere in his regrets. “Normally we wouldn’t, but they were quite compelling. They even claimed to be the owners of the house they shown to us. I really apologise, ma’am.”

And you failed to ask anyone nearby? You guys just came to paint my fucking house? I lost my temper.

Gary appeared agitated. “I apologise, ma’am. We have no grounds for scepticism.”

I inhaled deeply while attempting to maintain my calm. “Well, you’re aware now. And you will assist me in putting this right. This is completely unacceptable, and responsibility must be taken.”

Sweat dropped into the manager’s beaded temples. “Yes, without a doubt. We’ll work together closely. We were clueless. This was not supposed to occur.”

I gave a nod. “I want your workers to testify in court.”

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The Davises had the audacity to countersue me, saying that I should have paid for the paint job, after I filed a case. Amazing. Pathetic.

The employees of the painting company testified against them in court. My attorney detailed the ways in which the Davises had harmed my home and defrauded me by pretending to be me.

After paying close attention, the judge faced the Davises. “You’ve destroyed her possessions and taken her identity. This is a criminal matter as well as a civil one.”

The Davises appeared to have ingested some lemons. They were convicted of vandalism and fraud. They were given a community service sentence and told to pay for all the expenses, including court fees, to repaint my house yellow.

“I hope you’re happy,” Mrs. Davis growled outside the courthouse.

I gave a charming smile. “I will be when my house is YELLOW again!”

That’s the story of how I got my comeuppance. It’s sometimes advantageous to stand your ground. What are everyone’s thoughts?

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