Some people learn through listening. Others, however, need to feel the consequences firsthand. My neighbor Alan definitely belonged to the second type, so I did exactly what was necessary to teach him a memorable lesson.
The first thing I do every morning is make myself a steaming cup of coffee. The second thing? I peek out my kitchen window to check if Alan’s blue Honda Civic is blocking my garage. Again.
This has been my daily routine for six exhausting months. Ever since he moved back in with his parents next door. Six months of knocking on his door at 7:45 a.m. Six months of forcing a smile while he scrambled for his keys, mumbling half-hearted apologies.
Six months of being late to work.
I’ve never been particularly lucky with relationships. By the age of 32, I’d gone through three serious boyfriends. Each relationship ended the same way: me changing my Netflix password, buying new sheets, and telling myself I’d focus on myself for a while.
After the last breakup — Jeremy, who “needed space” but somehow found it in my best friend’s apartment — I finally decided that relationships simply weren’t worth the trouble.
Instead, I threw myself into my career.
As a graphic designer at a marketing firm downtown, I make enough to afford my small but perfect house. I decorated it exactly how I wanted. No one to complain about my teal accent wall or the vintage movie posters. No one to judge me when I eat ice cream for dinner or splurge on spontaneous weekend trips.
Speaking of trips, I’ve been saving up for a solo adventure to New Zealand next year. Or at least, trying to. Each time I’m late because of Alan’s thoughtless parking, my boss gives me that dreaded look — the one that says “I’m not angry, just disappointed,” which somehow stings even more.
This morning was no different.
I peeked through the blinds and, surprise surprise, there it was: the blue Honda, right in front of my garage.
With a resigned sigh, I set down my mug, slipped on my shoes, and trudged next door. Three sharp knocks. Footsteps. Then Alan’s sleepy face appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, hey Mia,” he said groggily. “Car’s in the way again?”
“As it was yesterday,” I replied curtly. “And the day before. And basically every day since you moved back home.”
He had the decency to look slightly ashamed. “Sorry. I’ll move it right now.”
I stood there as he scrambled around, wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a faded T-shirt from some obscure band. At 28, Alan really should have had his act together by now.
Apparently, he’d moved back in to “help his parents,” but Mrs. Carter — the unofficial neighborhood news agency disguised as a book club leader — told me he’d actually lost his job at a tech startup downtown. Came home defeated.
Maybe I would’ve felt bad for him… if he hadn’t been making me late every single morning.
“Thanks,” I said tightly as he finally cleared my driveway. “But you know, all of this could be avoided if you just parked somewhere else.”
He sighed. “Where? My dad’s car is in our garage, and by the time I get home, all the street spots are full.”
“That’s not my problem,” I said, climbing into my Subaru. “Find a solution.”
But the next morning? Same story. Same blue Honda. Same frustration.
After work that day, I decided I had to talk to him directly and properly. I caught him washing his dad’s car in the driveway.
“Alan,” I called out, arms folded. “We need to discuss the parking situation.”
He turned, holding the hose.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry about this morning,” he started.
“And yesterday. And the morning before that.”
“Look, it’s just… tough. My dad can’t walk far, so he needs the garage. The Johnsons hog up all the curb spots with their three cars, and—”
“And so that somehow makes it acceptable to block my garage?” I cut in.
He turned off the hose and faced me. “No. It doesn’t. But I don’t know what else to do.”
“Park around the block.”
“And walk half a mile in the dark after my night shift? Past the woods where raccoons hang out? No thanks.”
I didn’t realize he worked night shifts. Or that raccoons scared him.
“Alan, let me be clear. If you block my garage again, there will be consequences.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Consequences? Like you’ll call a tow truck?”
“Worse,” I said firmly. “Much worse.”
He laughed. “Mia, has anyone ever told you that you’re a little intense?”
My cheeks burned as I stormed away — not because he was wrong, but because I had already started planning exactly what those consequences would look like.
That night, I watched from my living room window as Alan pulled up around 10 p.m. Right on schedule, he parked directly in front of my garage, shot a quick glance toward my house, and went inside.
“That’s it,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing my laptop.
I spent the next hour researching obsessively. That’s when I found articles about wildlife deterrents — and, even better, wildlife attractants.
Our neighborhood backs up to a forest preserve. We have raccoons, possums, deer, all kinds of critters. Usually, they stayed away… but with the right bait…
Friday arrived, and since I didn’t have to work early Saturday, it was the perfect chance.
After work, I stopped by the pet store and picked up a massive bag of wild birdseed mix and a bottle labeled “Critter Potty Training Attractant.” The cashier gave me a weird look.
“New pet?”
“Something like that,” I answered with a sweet smile.
That night, once everything went quiet, I slipped outside dressed all in black, carrying my supplies in a tote. Alan’s blue Honda sat gleaming under the streetlight, practically begging for it.
I worked fast. I sprinkled birdseed generously over the hood, roof, and trunk. Then, I dabbed the attractant carefully along the door handles, side mirrors, and around the wheel wells. The smell was nauseating — I had to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
Mission accomplished, I thought, creeping back inside. I set my alarm for 6 a.m. and went to bed.
I woke before my alarm to the sound of shouting.
Groggy, I peeked out the window and saw Alan standing by his car in his pajamas, hands on his head, looking absolutely horrified.
His precious Honda looked like a scene from a horror movie. Bird droppings streaked the windshield and hood. Tiny scratch marks covered the paint where beaks had dug for seeds. And there were brown smudges that could have only come from larger critters.
A fat raccoon was still perched on the roof, happily munching on leftover seeds.
“Get off! Shoo! Get out of here!” Alan screamed, flailing his arms wildly. The raccoon just looked at him lazily before returning to its breakfast.
I burst out laughing. I threw on my robe and stepped outside onto my porch.
“Trouble with your car this morning?” I called sweetly.
Alan spun around, his face red. “Did you — was this you — ?!”
I shrugged. “Looks like the local wildlife really liked your car.”
“Mia, I know this was you.”
“Prove it,” I said calmly. “Maybe it’s karma for blocking someone’s garage over and over even after being asked not to.”
His jaw dropped. “Do you realize how much this will cost to clean? The scratches alone —”
“Probably about as much as I’ve lost in wages and reputation from being late three times a week,” I replied flatly.
He paused. His anger seemed to drain away, replaced by something else. “You know what? I probably deserved this.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I had braced myself for yelling, threats, or maybe a call to the HOA.
“You’re… not mad?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m furious,” he said, then actually laughed. “But also… honestly, this was kind of brilliant.”
“You didn’t listen to words, so…”
“So, you unleashed the local raccoons. Message received.” He scratched his head, looking around at the mess. “Guess I’d better start cleaning.”
He turned to head inside but then stopped. He reappeared moments later carrying two buckets, a stack of cleaning supplies, and a pair of gloves. He walked straight to my porch.
“Help me?” he asked, holding out the gloves.
“Why would I help you clean up a mess you made yourself?” I said, folding my arms.
“Because,” he said, suddenly looking awkward, “I owe you an apology. And an explanation.”
“You can apologize from over there, preferably far enough that I don’t have to smell you,” I retorted.
He put the gloves down. “Okay. The truth is… it wasn’t just about parking. I wanted excuses to talk to you.”
I blinked. “You blocked my garage every day… just to talk to me?”
“I know it’s stupid,” he said quickly. “It is stupid. But after I moved back, I noticed you. The fresh flowers on your porch. The way you dance to 80s music when you’re gardening. How you helped Mrs. Carter with her groceries that one time. I wanted to ask you out, but every time I tried, I chickened out and just mumbled an apology about my car instead.”
“That is… hands down the worst flirting technique I’ve ever heard,” I finally managed.
“I know,” he groaned. “I haven’t dated since college, and then losing my job and moving back home at 28… not exactly peak dating confidence.”
Despite myself, I felt my annoyance melting away.
“You could’ve just come over with cookies or something like a normal person.”
“I can’t bake,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I make a mean cup of coffee. And I promise never to block your garage again.”
I studied him. He did have kind eyes. And he wasn’t yelling or threatening to sue over the raccoon stunt.
“Tell you what,” I said finally, stepping down. “I’ll help you clean your car. Then you’re taking me out for coffee.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Consider it your penance,” I said, grabbing the gloves from him. “Then we’ll see.”
We spent that entire morning scrubbing bird droppings, wiping away suspicious smudges, and vacuuming seeds out of every crevice. It was disgusting, but surprisingly fun.
He told me about his job hunt, his dad’s health, and his dream of one day opening a coffee shop.
By the time we were done, the car was mostly clean, though it still had a faint wildlife scent. We were soaked, dirty, and laughing.
“Coffee now?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Your car still stinks.”
He looked crestfallen.
“But,” I added, “there’s a place two blocks away with the best chicken wings. We can walk.”
His face brightened instantly. “I’d love that.”
As we strolled toward the restaurant, I realized I hadn’t felt this light in months — maybe even years. Sometimes, the most unexpected beginnings — even ones involving birdseed, raccoons, and revenge — lead to the best connections.
And Alan? He never blocked my garage again. These days, he usually parks in my driveway instead.
