At some point, in any position of public responsibility – president, prime minister, or Chair of the Committee to Regulate Flowerpots – a person must stand before a mirror, take in the smoldering crater of their reputation, and murmur:
“Well, that was a spectacular failure. Perhaps I should resign before someone builds a guillotine out of recycling bins.”
Unless, of course, you’re on this condo board, where introspection is treated like mildew: acknowledged only when it spreads to the ceiling.
Instead of resigning, the board’s leadership opted for their signature move:
Holding a closed meeting to discuss the thread count of the hallway carpet, and pretending $100,000 in legal costs was simply “a complex misunderstanding with the judiciary.”
Let’s review the highlights from this opera of fiscal self-destruction:
- You lost an appeal – thoroughly, publicly, and with all the dignity of a wet sock.
- You rejected borrowing solutions because they weren’t your idea (and might’ve worked).
- You doubled the condo fees while waging an epic crusade against a quiet dog and an imaginary washing machine
And yet, you persist not as leaders, but as a living case study in unchecked managerial delusion.
In any semi-functioning democracy, this level of financial vandalism and reputational nosediving would result in some manner of consequence:
- A resignation.
- A press conference.
- A brief moment of shame before being airlifted into retirement via municipal golf cart.
But here?
- No apology.
- No explanation.
- Just the hollow thud of another strongly worded memo about nothing.
Let’s be honest: if a school board misplaced $100K because they couldn’t tell a service dog from Satan’s Labradoodle, they’d be sacked, sued, and possibly sentenced to sit through their own AGM recordings.
But this board? No.
They remain.
Clinging to their seats like toddlers to the last cookie.
Because in their minds, resignation is something other people do – weaker people, reasonable people, people who don’t burn through community money like it’s Monopoly cash.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth:
You were never indispensable.
You were just loud, unchallenged, and conveniently available at election time.
Leadership means stepping aside when you’ve made a mess, not duct-taping the mess to the ceiling and hoping no one looks up.
So here it is – in words even your most bylaw-obsessed brain can understand:
RESIGN!
Gracefully, if you can manage it.
Quietly, if you can’t.
Take your binder, your surveillance memos, your deep suspicion of dogs, and go.
The community doesn’t need another “urgent” meeting about crane day.
It needs relief.
And if you won’t go on your own…
don’t worry.
We’ll bring a court order to help you find the door.
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
