My Neighbor Blocked My Driveway Three Times Until I Taught Her A Lesson – The Archivist

“Oh, stop.”

 

“Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Eighth. Tuesday the ninth you were there for twenty-two minutes. I have the timestamps.”

 

Her eyes moved sideways in the way eyes move when someone is recalibrating.

 

“June eleventh—”

 

“Stop,” she said. Not aggressively. Something quieter.

 

I stopped.

 

“On the ninth,” I said, “Ben told me his teacher had asked why his name kept appearing on the late register. He asked me if he was going to get in trouble.”

 

Denise said nothing.

 

“And you told me I’d survive.”

 

The officer was very carefully not making eye contact with anyone.

 

Denise’s jaw worked briefly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“You shouldn’t have parked there.”

 

“I needed somewhere to put the car in the mornings.” Her voice had shifted register, slightly. The performance had gone out of it. “My husband leaves early and maneuvering around his car is difficult.”

 

Ezoic

 

I looked past her at her driveway.

Empty. Wide enough for two cars if you weren’t particular about how close they were. Her husband’s car was gone, as it was every morning by the time any of this was happening.

“You have roadside spaces directly in front of your house.”

“Sometimes they’re taken.”

“This morning?”

She glanced at the road outside her house. Two empty spaces.

“And you have a driveway,” I said.

She said, “The angle makes it awkward.”

I want you to understand that I had been having some version of this conversation for six weeks. I had knocked on her door and asked her politely and been told I’d survive. Mark had spoken to her twice. I had late marks for my children and a conversation with my manager and twenty-two mornings of working out how to get two school-age boys to school from a driveway I couldn’t access.

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