Last Thursday morning, I backed my car out of my driveway and almost hit a blue van parked at the curb directly opposite my driveway.
Hint to People Who Park on the Street: If you must park on the street, it's considered very bad form to park across from somebody's driveway. This makes it a royal PIA to back out, especially when you live on a dinky, narrow street like mine. So if you must park on the street, please avoid the driveways.
Why do I even have to explain this to anyone?
OK, it was no big deal. I braked in time, murmured a certain cuss word, backed all the way out, and went on my merry way.
That blue van sat there all day. And all night. And all day Friday. And all of Friday night.
Now all this time I am creeping slowwwwly out of my driveway several times a day, cutting sharply, running over my tree lawn and narrowly missing my mail box, all so I don't bump that stupid blue van. Everyone knows when a car bumps a van, it's the car that generally gets the bad end of the bargain. And it would be considered my fault.
I am also pissed because there happens to be A LAW that says cars can't be parked on the street overnight. I know this law exists because someone visiting ME once got a ticket for parking out there overnight.
Still the van sits. I don't know who it belongs to. By Saturday morning I'm so sick of creeping around, I finally call the non-emergency police number to complain. "It's been there 24/7 for the past three days and it's IN. MY. WAY."
Police: "Do they have permission?"
Me: "How would I know if they have permission?"
Police: "Well, if it's out there now, they're not breaking any laws."
Well, of course not. Because now it's the middle of the day. BUT IT'S ANNOYING ME.
Me: "Well, then please send someone out in the middle of the night when they are breaking a law. After all, you ticketed a friend of ours for parking out there one night."
Police: "We'll send someone out to check on it tonight."
Me: (I bet)
Sunday morning the blue van is still there. No ticket on the windshield. Not even a warning. WTF?
Sunday night, as I back out with Beth on our way to the mall, I come very, very close to hitting that damn thing again. Maybe if I had a Rio it wouldn't be such a big deal, but I drive an Impala. And maybe my depth perception isn't all that it used to be.
This time I don't just mumble the cuss word. I shriek it. I don't care if I have to set my alarm, I'm gonna call the police at three a.m. and demand them come out and TICKET THE DAMN CAR. Maybe I can complain of a bad odor...yeah, yeah! That'd work! After all, it's clearly abandoned. Who knows what's in it?
If I get no satisfaction then, I swear I will go from door to door till I find out who owns that freaking blue van, and insist they move it--at gunpoint, if necessary. My nerves are shot. My mind has cracked. If I have to back out around that FREAKING BLUE VAN ONE MORE TIME I will make CNN: Suburban Woman's Violent Rampage Stuns Neighbors.
I consider letting the air out of the tires. Hahahahaha. After all, if nobody's gonna drive it...EVER...what's the difference?
Beth: "Mom, that's vandalism."
Me: "Heh, heh. Just kidding..."
I'm truthfully on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
Miraculously, when we return, the blue van is GONE! Oh happy day. I notice it two doors down, sitting in a neighbor's driveway. I don't know these people (it's a rental house) or why they chose not to use their own driveway for four days, or why they had to park their car nowhere near their own house--but at least I now know where the blue van belongs in case they pull this BS again.
And guess what? NOW IT'S BLOCKING THE SIDEWALK!