When my neighbor thought he could use my driveway whenever he pleased, I decided it was time to teach him a lesson. He kept parking there despite my warnings, so I came up with the perfect plan to make him rethink everything he’d done.
My name is Nate, and six months ago, I thought I’d found the ideal spot to start over.
At 30, I’d finally landed a good job in marketing that paid enough for me to buy my first house. It was a cozy two-bedroom in a calm neighborhood where I could enjoy my single life without any trouble.
“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.”
Man, was I wrong about that last part.
For the first few weeks, everything felt perfect. I’d wake up, grab my coffee, and head to work feeling truly happy with my choices.
The neighborhood was peaceful, the house was mine, and I finally had the space I’d always wanted. No roommates or a landlord hovering over me. Just me and my little piece of suburban calm.
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 huge grin.
“Hey there, neighbor! I’m Greg from next door. Welcome to the street!”
“Thanks, man. I’m Nate,” I said, shaking his hand.
He seemed genuinely friendly, maybe five years older than me, with the kind of laid-back vibe that put you at ease right away.
“My wife, Laura, is cooking her famous lasagna tonight. She insisted I invite you over. Says no one should eat takeout their first week in a new place.”
I have to admit, it felt nice to be welcomed like that.
“That’s really kind of you both,” I replied. “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 seemed like a devoted family guy, talking proudly about his work at the local construction company.
“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, meaning every word.
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. 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 started to shift.
It began with small things I initially ignored.
One morning, I noticed someone had trimmed the shrubs along my front yard.
Not just trimmed them, but chopped them back hard. The branches were scattered across my lawn like a mess from a crime scene.
“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 in 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 shrugged.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Figured it wasn’t a big deal. Neighbors helping neighbors, right?”
I wanted to say more, but he’d already turned back to his car, ending the conversation. That night, I found myself staring at my hacked-up shrubs, wondering if I was overreacting.
The next week brought a new 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 to the obvious 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 things, but the same pattern.
Greg would do something out of line, I’d call him out, and he’d apologize while acting like it was no big deal.
Meanwhile, Laura started avoiding eye contact when she saw me, and Timmy stopped showing me his finds.
The friendly neighbors I’d been so excited about were slowly becoming the biggest headache in my otherwise perfect new life.
But nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next. The thing 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 race to the restaurant.
That’s when I saw it.
Greg’s silver car was parked right in my driveway, completely blocking my car.
“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, like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate neighbor 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 like he was seeing it for the first time. “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, I wasn’t in a rush, but 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. 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 and 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. And each time I confronted him, he’d act 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 complain 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 chance came when my friends Mike and Danny invited me on a weekend trip to Vegas.
We’d been planning it for months, and I’d 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, but it felt like sweet payback. I’d park my car in Greg’s driveway right before heading to the airport, then enjoy my weekend in Vegas.
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 cars out. His car was there along with Laura’s minivan, both stuck behind my car like they were trapped.
“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 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’d 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 awesome.
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 someone else’s selfishness.
When I got back 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 like nothing had happened. When he saw me, he stopped for a moment, and we looked at each other across our yards.
He didn’t wave, smile, or say anything.
He just 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 no acting like my property belongs to him.
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 own 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, and you have to show them that their actions have consequences.
My driveway is mine again, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
