The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual and put my plan into action. Armed with a roll of bright orange caution tape, a stack of “Tow Zone” signs I had printed, and some traffic cones I’d borrowed from a friend, I set up a barricade around my driveway.
I also made a quick call to a towing company, just in case the barricade wasn’t enough to send the message.
At 7 a.m., I watched from my window as one of Dave’s construction crew members tried to pull into my driveway. The driver stopped, confused by the barricade. He got out, looked at the signs, and scratched his head. After a moment, he walked over to Dave’s house.
Within minutes, Dave himself was outside, staring at my handiwork. He marched over to my door, banging on it loud enough to wake the neighborhood.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, waving a hand toward my driveway.
I opened the door and smiled. “Good morning, Dave. Oh, the barricade? It’s there to make sure no one parks in my driveway without permission. You know, like your crew’s been doing for weeks.”
Dave scowled. “Look, I’ve got a renovation going on. We need space for the vehicles. It’s temporary!”
“So is my driveway,” I shot back. “It’s mine. Not a community parking lot.”
Dave tried to argue, but I stood my ground. “I’ve asked you nicely for weeks, Dave. You ignored me. Now, if one of your vehicles crosses into my driveway again, it’s getting towed. No warnings.”
Just as I said this, the towing company truck pulled up, right on time. The driver stepped out, ready to enforce the signs I’d posted. Dave’s face turned redder than a stop sign.
“Fine!” he spat. “I’ll make sure they don’t park here.”
“Great. That’s all I wanted,” I said with a sweet smile.
From that day forward, Dave’s crew kept their vehicles far away from my driveway. I even caught them parking further down the street to avoid the wrath of the “Tow Zone Lady,” as I later learned they’d nicknamed me.
Dave avoided me for weeks, but I didn’t mind. My driveway stayed clear, and I finally got to work on time without any hassles.
The lesson was simple: respect your neighbors, or risk a little creative justice. And as I stood in my driveway one morning, watching the construction trucks neatly parked along the curb, I couldn’t help but feel a little proud of my “petty” victory.
