In my 20 years as a construction foreman, I’ve dealt with my fair share of difficult people—but nothing prepared me for the mom who barreled into our clearly marked no-parking zone like she owned the place. When I calmly asked her to move, she rolled her eyes and told me to “deal with it.” I simply smiled—because karma was already on its way, and it didn’t disappoint.
Some mornings test your patience. Others? They reward it with the sweet taste of instant karma. Let me tell you about a day where one entitled driver learned the hard way that construction crews don’t mess around—especially when you block their only access point and tell them to “deal with it.”
I’m Ray, 40 years old, and a foreman for a small but tough construction crew. We’ve been busting our backs for the last six weeks building a house halfway up what we’ve nicknamed “Mount Backbreaker.” No, it’s not a real mountain, but when you’re hauling 2x6s up a steep, uneven dirt path in the middle of July, it might as well be Everest.
The site itself is only accessible by foot—no road, no shortcuts. So, every plank, pipe, and piece of roofing material has to be hauled uphill by hand. Our only reprieve? Two blessed, clearly marked “NO PARKING: LOADING ZONE – TOW AWAY” spots at the foot of the hill. Without those spots, we’re screwed.
That morning, the air was already thick with humidity, and sweat trickled down my back before I even grabbed my coffee.
“Ray!” my buddy Derrick called from the scaffold above. “Vic just called—lumber delivery’s early. Ten minutes out.”
I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, missed call from Vic—the lumber guy.
“Ray, it’s Vic. On my way, maybe five minutes out now. Got your trusses, subflooring, and some sheetrock too.”
I quickly made my way down the path toward the street, determined to clear the area for Vic’s truck. But the moment I turned the corner, my blood pressure spiked.
There it was. A gleaming white Range Rover, idling like it owned the place, squarely parked in one of our loading zones. A woman inside, sipping coffee and scrolling on her phone, windows up, AC blasting.
I approached, tapping lightly on her window with my knuckle.
The glass rolled down halfway.
“Morning, ma’am. Just a heads-up—you’re parked in a loading zone for our construction crew. We’ve got a big delivery truck arriving any minute and really need that spot clear.”
She barely looked up. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said flatly. “Can’t you unload around me? It’s not that big of a deal. Chill.”
And then the window zipped right back up.
Okay.
Okay.
I took a breath. Counted to five.
A second later, I heard the growl of Vic’s truck turning the corner. He was right on time, his eighteen-wheeler fully loaded, and absolutely no room to turn unless those two spots were clear.
Vic leaned out the window. “What the hell, Ray? That white SUV yours?”
“Nope,” I replied, jaw tight. “She told us to work around her.”
Vic’s face split into a slow grin. “Say no more.”
I grinned right back. “Box her in. Nice and tight—driver’s side if you can. Let’s give her the full VIP suite—between your truck and the porta-john.”
Vic carefully maneuvered his rig so close to her driver’s side that she’d need a miracle to squeeze out. With a parked sedan behind her and a portable toilet barely two feet in front, her escape route had officially been revoked.
From the sidewalk, she glanced up at the sound of air brakes and frowned. Her expression went from mildly annoyed to furious in seconds as she realized what was happening.
“You serious right now?” she mouthed through her windshield.
Dead serious, lady.
I waved Derrick and the crew down the path. “Let’s move, guys. We’ve got a roof to frame.”
Vic started lowering the gate on the truck. “You calling it in?”
“Already on it,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s get parking enforcement down here, just for documentation.”
We got to work. Load after load, sweat soaking our shirts, while the SUV idled silently between truck and toilet.
About twenty minutes into unloading, a little boy—maybe six or seven—walked up wearing a blue backpack. He peered into the passenger window.
“Mom? Why are you in the front seat like that?”
Through the window, we watched as she awkwardly clambered over the center console, squeezing her frame through the passenger door and spilling onto the sidewalk with a clumsy grunt.
“Because these jerks blocked me in!” she hissed, brushing off her designer blouse as she opened the rear door for her kid.
They got in, and I thought—okay, that might be the end of it.
But no. Moments later, she stormed toward us like an approaching thundercloud.
“I need to leave now. Move your damn truck.”
Vic didn’t even blink. “Sorry, ma’am. Load’s unstrapped. Policy says I can’t move it until it’s secure again. Safety protocols.”
“Screw your protocol! I have somewhere to be!”
I shrugged. “We asked you nicely to move. You refused. You told us to ‘work around you.’ This—” I gestured around the chaos, “—is us working around you.”
Her jaw dropped. “I’m going to report you!”
And just then, like a well-timed movie cue, a city parking officer’s car pulled up. Officer Lena Martinez, clipboard in hand, stepped out and adjusted her sunglasses.
“Morning, Ray,” she said, walking over. “Heard you had a delivery issue?”
Before I could respond, the Range Rover’s engine roared to life.
“She’s gonna try it,” Vic muttered.
“Oh, no…” Derrick added.
The SUV jerked into reverse, tires spinning on the hot pavement—and slammed right into the porta-potty.
It rocked.
It groaned.
And then, like a wounded beast, it tipped, a blue wave of liquid sloshing out like the world’s worst smoothie.
“Sweet mercy,” whispered one of the guys. “She killed it.”
But she wasn’t done.
The Range Rover lurched forward, trying to mount the curb, wheels spinning furiously. Halfway up, the undercarriage caught, and the vehicle stuck—teetering on the edge of h.u.m.iliating defeat.
Officer Martinez marched straight over.
“TURN OFF THE ENGINE. NOW.”
The woman froze, then cut the engine.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
“But—my son—he’s in the back!”
“I’m aware. That’s going to be another issue we’ll be addressing.”
The SUV door opened, and she stepped out—again through the passenger side—hands shaking, face red, heels clicking on the curb like she was trying to keep her dignity from completely disintegrating.
Martinez gestured for her to sit on the curb while she called in backup.
“She blocked an emergency zone, operated the vehicle recklessly, and endangered a child,” the officer muttered to me. “Not to mention property damage.”
Vic, never one to hold back, added, “Driving like that on a suspended license, maybe?”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Officer Martinez said, scanning her tablet. “Her license was flagged last month. Unpaid citations. She shouldn’t even be on the road.”
I raised an eyebrow. “She said she was just picking up her kid.”
“From a no-parking zone, during construction, while idling illegally, with a suspended license. That’s a whole buffet of bad decisions.”
By the time Officer Rodriguez arrived, she was handcuffed and seated in the back of the cruiser. Her son sat quietly on the curb, playing with his backpack zipper.
A few minutes later, an older woman in a floral blouse—clearly the kid’s grandmother—arrived, face a mix of worry and resignation.
“She called me from the back of the police car,” she muttered to Officer Martinez. “This isn’t the first time.”
She gathered her grandson gently, offering us a weak but sincere thank you before leaving.
Vic looked at the totaled porta-potty, then at me. “What’s the verdict?”
“Company’s sending a replacement tomorrow,” I said. “Honestly, it was overdue for a cleaning.”
Laughter erupted from the crew.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and turned the house framing gold, we sat on a stack of lumber sipping cold sodas and rehashing the morning.
“You quoting her words back to her? That was genius,” Derrick said between gulps.
“I thought she’d explode,” Vic added. “But that crash into the porta-potty? That was the cherry on top.”
“Instant karma,” I said. “Better than any reality show.”
We toasted to entitled drivers, to tight teamwork, and to the enduring strength of the “No Parking” sign.
And as dusk settled, I thought about how sometimes in life, people think their urgency is more important than everyone else’s effort. They bulldoze boundaries and expect the world to move for them.
But once in a while, that world politely steps aside… and lets them crash straight into their own mess.
