I’ve been a construction foreman for 20 years, and believe me, I’ve seen all kinds of people. But no one quite like her—the mom who drove her big white SUV into our clearly marked No Parking zone like rules were just suggestions for other people.
When I kindly asked her to move, she barely glanced at me and said, “Deal with it.”
I didn’t argue. I just smiled and let karma take over.
Let me tell you about that wild morning. I’d never seen karma work so fast—or hit so hard.
I’m Bob, 40 years old, foreman of a hard-working construction crew. We were building a house halfway up what we called Mount Hellscape. Okay, it wasn’t a real mountain, but it felt like one—250 feet up a steep, narrow dirt path. And in the blazing heat of July, carrying heavy wood beams on your shoulder? Yeah, it was torture.
We’d been at this job for weeks. There’s no road up to the house we were building. Everything had to be carried up by hand—planks, pipes, nails, tools—you name it.
The only thing we had to make life a little easier? Two sacred parking spots at the bottom of the hill. Marked loud and clear: NO PARKING. TOW AWAY ZONE.
Those spots were our lifeline. Deliveries needed them. If anything blocked them, our whole operation jammed up.
“Bob!” I heard from above. My buddy Mike was shouting from the scaffolding. “Jerry’s on the phone—says the lumber delivery’s coming early!”
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and grabbed my phone. “Jerry? You close?”
“Three minutes tops,” he said. “I’ve got your roof trusses and everything else.”
“Got it. I’ll clear the loading zone. See you in three.”
I slid the phone back in my pocket and started down the steep path to the street.
As I rounded the last curve, my stomach sank. Parked in one of our precious spots was a shiny white SUV, engine running, a woman inside tapping away on her phone like she had all the time in the world.
Through the windshield I could see her. Sunglasses, fancy hair, the whole look. I took a deep breath and walked up to her window.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said with a polite smile. “This is a no-parking zone for construction deliveries. We’ve got a truck arriving any minute now.”
She didn’t even look up at first. Then, slowly, she lowered her window halfway and muttered, “I’ll just be a few minutes. Your truck isn’t even here. Take a chill pill, dude.”
And click—the window went back up.
I tried one more time. “Ma’am, please—”
But the loud rumble of a big diesel engine cut me off. I turned to see Jerry’s delivery truck rolling around the corner, fully loaded with everything we needed for our roof.
I waved him over and pointed to the SUV.
I knocked on the lady’s window again. She finally lowered it, clearly annoyed. “WHAT?” she snapped.
“The delivery truck is here now. You’re blocking the only access we have. We really need you to move.”
She looked past me at Jerry’s giant truck, then gave me a cold glare.
“Can’t you guys just unload around me? What’s the big deal?” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that hard.”
Up went the window again.
I stood there, blinking. Then I turned around and walked back toward Jerry.
“What’s the plan, Bob?” he asked, leaning out the window.
I smiled slow and wide. “She said to work around her. So let’s work around her.”
Jerry chuckled. “Say no more.”
“Pull in as close to her driver’s side as you can. Make it legal… but tight. Let’s see how she likes it.”
Jerry eased the truck in perfectly. With the porta-potty on one side and a legally parked car on the other, the mom’s SUV was now completely boxed in.
“She’s not gonna like that,” Jerry said, smirking.
“She’ll be fine,” I replied. “Let’s get unloading. I’ll make a quick call.”
“Who you calling?” he asked.
“Parking enforcement. Just covering our bases.”
Up the hill, my crew had arrived.
“Let’s move, boys!” I shouted. “We’ve got a roof to build!”
As we started unloading the lumber, I noticed the woman inside the SUV was now not texting. Nope—she was looking around frantically. A few times she called someone on her phone, throwing angry glances our way.
After about twenty minutes, a little boy with a blue backpack showed up, probably her kid. He tapped on the passenger window. She opened it and awkwardly climbed over the center console to get out.
She stumbled onto the sidewalk, trying to fix her shirt and hair.
“Mommy, why are you climbing out like that?” the boy asked loud enough for all of us to hear.
“Because these IDIOTS blocked me in,” she hissed, holding his hand and stomping toward Jerry and me.
“I need to leave NOW,” she barked. “Move. Your. Truck.”
I opened my mouth, but Jerry beat me to it.
“Ma’am,” he said calmly, “we had to unstrap the entire load to unload. Company policy says we can’t move the truck now—it’s unsafe.”
She was fuming. “Trash your policy! I have somewhere important to be!”
I added, “We asked you nicely to move. You told us to work around you. So that’s what we did.”
“This is insane! I’m going to report both of you!”
But just then, a car pulled up behind us. Out stepped Officer Martinez, parking enforcement clipboard in hand.
The mom hadn’t noticed her yet—she was still yelling.
“I swear to God, if you don’t move that truck—”
I cut her off with a grin. “Can’t you just pull out around it? It’s not that hard.”
She froze. Her own words, echoed back. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
“Screw you!” she hissed, storming back to her SUV.
Officer Martinez came up beside us. “Morning, Bob. Got your call. Looks like a fun one.”
Before I could even answer, we heard it.
VROOM!
The SUV suddenly flew backward. BAM! It smashed right into the porta-potty.
It tipped, groaned, and splashed blue goo everywhere as it collapsed sideways.
“Oh man…” Jerry whispered.
The SUV then lunged forward, trying to climb the curb. The tires spun, screeching as the car got stuck—half on the sidewalk, half off.
“TURN OFF YOUR ENGINE! NOW!” Officer Martinez shouted, running up.
The mom froze. Finally, she realized there was a cop watching.
“Step out of the vehicle,” Officer Martinez ordered.
“I… These men trapped me!” she stammered, climbing out the passenger side again.
“Hands where I can see them.”
“My son is in the car!”
“I’m aware,” Martinez said. “And that’s going to be another issue.”
She called for backup on her radio. A second patrol car rolled up minutes later. Her son sat in the back seat, wide-eyed.
Jerry pointed at the chaos. “She told us to work around her. So… we did.”
“And then she panicked,” I added. “Tried to drive off.”
“She’s lying!” the mom yelled from the curb, now in handcuffs. “They never asked me to move!”
Officer Martinez shook her head. “Ma’am, I’m here because they called right after you refused to move.”
“I was just picking up my son!”
“In a clearly marked no-parking zone,” added Officer Rodriguez, the second cop. “Then you drove recklessly. With a child in the car.”
She slumped, realizing it was over.
Rodriguez turned to the boy. “What’s your home phone number, kiddo? We need someone to pick you up.”
Not long after, an older woman—his grandma, probably—arrived. She looked tired and upset, like this wasn’t the first time she had to bail her daughter out.
Meanwhile, Jerry signed off the delivery papers. A tow truck came and hauled away the stuck SUV.
Officer Martinez walked over. “Driving on a suspended license, too. Add child endangerment, destruction of property, reckless driving… She’ll be dealing with this for more than just a few minutes.”
Later, as the sun went down over the half-built house, I sat on a stack of lumber with my crew, sipping a cold Coke.
“You should’ve seen her face when you threw her own line back at her,” Jerry said, laughing.
“I almost felt bad,” I said.
“Almost being the key word,” Mike added. “What’s the damage on the porta-potty?”
“Company’s bringing a new one tomorrow,” I said. “Luckily, it was due for service anyway.”
We all laughed and raised our drinks.
“To entitled parents,” Jerry said, raising his can. “May their stolen parking spots always come with a fresh slice of karma.”
“And may they learn what we already know,” I added. “In construction—and in life—when you push too hard, sometimes you just end up stuck.”
As night settled over Mount Hellscape, we were tired, sweaty, and sore… but the parking lot was empty.
And somewhere across town, a certain mom had learned a big, expensive lesson about patience, respect… and why it’s never smart to mess with people who build things for a living.
