When my neighbor thought he could use my driveway whenever he pleased, I decided it was time to teach him a lesson. Despite my warnings, he continued to park there, so I concocted the perfect plan to make him rethink his actions.
My name is Nate, and six months ago, I thought I had found the ideal place to start over. At 30, I finally landed a solid job in marketing that paid well enough for me to buy my first home. It was a cozy two-bedroom house nestled in a quiet neighborhood, where I could enjoy my single life free from the chaos of roommates or landlords.
“This is just what I needed,” I told my mom over the phone as I unpacked boxes in my new living room. “Great job, nice house, and neighbors who seem decent.”
Boy, was I wrong about that last part.
At first, everything felt perfect. Each morning, I’d wake up, grab my coffee, and head to work, genuinely happy with my decisions. The neighborhood was peaceful, my home was mine, and I finally had the space I had always longed for.
That’s when I met Greg.
He showed up at my door on my third day in the house, holding a bottle of wine and flashing a friendly smile. “Hey there, neighbor! I’m Greg from next door. Welcome to the street!”
“Thanks, man. I’m Nate,” I replied, shaking his hand.
Greg seemed genuinely welcoming—maybe five years older than me, with a laid-back vibe that instantly put me at ease. He invited me to dinner that night, saying, “My wife, Laura, is cooking her famous lasagna. No one should eat takeout in their first week at a new place.”
I was touched by their hospitality. “That’s really kind of you both. I’d love to come over.”
That evening, I met Laura and their eight-year-old son, Timmy. Laura was warm and chatty, constantly apologizing for Timmy’s endless questions about my job and whether I had any video games. Meanwhile, Greg talked proudly about his work at a local construction company, portraying himself as a devoted family man.
“You picked a great street,” Greg said as we finished dinner. “Everyone looks out for each other here. It’s like having a big family.”
“Yeah, this feels perfect,” I replied, genuinely believing it.
For the next month, everything lived up to that promise. Greg would wave when he saw me heading to work, Laura would chat with me when we both grabbed our mail, and Timmy would ride his bike in circles on the sidewalk, always stopping to show me whatever cool rock or bug he’d found.
Then, things began to shift.
It started with small things I initially brushed aside. One morning, I noticed someone had aggressively trimmed the shrubs along my front yard. The branches were scattered across my lawn like debris from a storm.
“Hey Greg,” I called out when I saw him washing his car that afternoon. “Did you happen to see who cut my shrubs?”
He looked up, squinting against the sun. “Oh, that was me. Hope you don’t mind. They were growing into our yard, and Laura was worried about Timmy’s allergies.”
“I mean, you could’ve asked first,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I figured it wasn’t a big deal. Neighbors helping neighbors, right?”
I wanted to say more, but he had already turned back to his car. That night, I found myself staring at my hacked-up shrubs, wondering if I was overreacting.
The following week brought another surprise. I came home to find tire tracks across my front lawn, leading from the street to Greg’s driveway. When I knocked on his door, he answered with that same easy grin.
“Hey Nate! What’s up?”
“Someone drove across my lawn,” I said, pointing at the tracks. “Any idea who that might’ve been?”
Greg’s face reddened slightly. “Oh man, that was me. I had to move some lumber for a project, and my usual route was blocked. I’ll fix those tracks this weekend, promise.”
“Greg, that’s my property. You can’t just drive across someone’s lawn without asking.”
“You’re totally right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
But it did happen again. Different infractions, but the same pattern emerged. Greg would overstep a boundary, I’d confront him, and he’d apologize while acting as if it were no big deal. Meanwhile, Laura started avoiding eye contact when we crossed paths, and Timmy stopped showing me his cool finds.
The friendly neighbors I had once been excited about were slowly morphing into the biggest headache in my otherwise perfect life.
Then came the incident that pushed me from annoyed to outright furious. I was running late for dinner with my college buddies when I rushed out to my car, ready to make a quick getaway.
That’s when I saw it.
Greg’s silver car was parked right in my driveway, completely blocking my exit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, checking my watch. I was already 15 minutes late.
I marched over to Greg’s front door and rang the bell. He answered, looking totally relaxed, as if he hadn’t just committed a serious neighborly offense.
“Hey Nate, what’s going on?”
“Your car’s blocking my driveway,” I said, pointing at it. “I need to get out.”
Greg glanced over at his car, almost surprised. “Oh, that. Yeah, I just parked it there for a bit. I’m sorting some stuff in my garage, and I needed the space.”
“For a bit?” I snapped. “Greg, I need to leave right now. I’m already late.”
“Sure, sure. No problem.” He grabbed his keys from a hook by the door. “I’ll move it right away.”
As he moved his car, I stood there, thinking this had to be a one-time thing. People mess up, right? Even thoughtless ones.
I was wrong.
Three days later, I came home from work to find Greg’s car in my driveway again. This time, while I wasn’t in a rush, I was definitely not happy. I walked over and knocked on his door, trying to stay calm.
“Greg, your car’s in my driveway again.”
“Oh, right. Sorry about that. I was just unloading some groceries, and it was easier to park there for a minute.”
“This is the second time this week. You can’t just use my driveway whenever you want.”
“I know, I know. It won’t happen again.”
But it did happen again. And again.
Over the next few months, Greg’s car became a regular sight in my driveway. Sometimes, I’d come home to find it there. Other times, I’d wake up to see it blocking me in. Each time, I’d have to walk over and ask him to move it. Each time, he’d give me the same excuse about “just needing it for a minute.”
“Greg, this is getting ridiculous,” I said during what felt like the hundredth conversation about his parking. “You have your own driveway. Use it.”
“I am using it. I just needed to park here for a bit while I moved some stuff around.”
“That’s what you said last week. And the week before that.”
He shrugged. “Look, Nate, it’s not a big deal. We’re neighbors. We should help each other out.”
“Help each other out? I’m not helping you. You’re making my life harder.”
But Greg just kept doing it. Each time I confronted him, he acted like I was being unreasonable for wanting to use my own driveway.
Eventually, I started dreading coming home, wondering if I’d have to deal with the same nonsense again. My friends were sick of hearing me vent about it. My mom kept telling me to “just talk to him like an adult,” as if I hadn’t been trying that for months.
That’s when I realized something important: being nice wasn’t working. Being direct wasn’t working. Greg was taking advantage of my patience, and it was time to try something different.
It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.
The perfect opportunity arose when my friends Mike and Danny invited me on a weekend trip to Vegas. We had been planning it for months, and I had already booked my flight for Friday morning. As I sat in my living room the night before, staring at my packed suitcase, an idea started forming in my head.
“Why not?” I said out loud to my empty house. “If Greg thinks it’s fine to park in my driveway whenever he wants, maybe he won’t mind if I borrow his.”
The plan was simple, yet it felt like sweet payback. I’d park my car in Greg’s driveway right before heading to the airport, effectively blocking both his cars.
At 3 a.m., I quietly moved my car from my garage to Greg’s driveway, parking it right in the middle so he couldn’t get either of his vehicles out.
“Let’s see how you like being inconvenienced,” I whispered as I walked back to my house.
My Uber to the airport arrived at 5 a.m., and I slept most of the way there. Mike and Danny were waiting for me at the gate when I arrived.
“You look way too happy for someone who got up at four in the morning,” Mike said, handing me a coffee.
“Let’s just say I finally fixed my neighbor problem,” I replied with a grin.
Two hours into the flight, after we had reached cruising altitude, I turned on my phone to check messages. What I saw made me laugh out loud.
Greg had sent me six texts, each one more desperate than the last.
“Nate, why’s your car in my driveway?”
“I need to get to work. Can you move it?”
“Where are you? I’ve been knocking on your door for twenty minutes.”
“This isn’t funny. I’m going to be late for work.”
“My wife has a doctor’s appointment. We need to get out.”
“Nate, answer your phone!”
I showed the messages to Mike and Danny, who both cracked up.
“Oh man, you’re ruthless,” Danny said. “I love it.”
Instead of calling Greg back, I sent him a short text. “Oh, I just parked there for a bit while I handle some stuff. I’ll be back on Sunday.”
Then I added one more message: “Hope you don’t mind. Neighbors should help each other out, right?”
After that, I blocked his number. This was my vacation, and I wasn’t going to let Greg’s panic ruin it.
The weekend was fantastic. We hit the casinos, saw a show, and I felt more relaxed than I had in months. Every time I thought about Greg stuck in his driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. For once, he was the one dealing with the consequences of someone else’s selfishness.
When I returned home on Sunday evening, I half-expected to find an angry note on my door or maybe even a towing notice. Instead, I found nothing. Greg’s house was quiet, and both his cars were still trapped behind mine.
I moved my car back to my garage and waited to see what would happen next.
Monday morning, I was getting ready for work when I saw Greg in his driveway, loading his car as if nothing had happened. When he saw me, he paused, and we exchanged a glance across our yards.
He didn’t wave, smile, or say anything. He simply got in his car and drove off.
That was three weeks ago, and Greg hasn’t parked in my driveway since. Not once. No excuses about needing space, no “just for a minute,” and none of that possessive attitude he once had about my property.
Sometimes, the best way to teach someone a lesson is to show them exactly how their actions affect others. Greg learned that weekend what it felt like to be stuck and to have someone else mess with his space.
And I learned something too. Sometimes being nice isn’t enough. You have to stand up for yourself in a way that people can’t ignore or brush off. You have to demonstrate that their actions have consequences.
My driveway is mine again, and I couldn’t be happier.