Our building’s parking is a nightmare—first come, first serve unless you shell out for a reserved space. I caved and paid monthly for a guaranteed spot right outside my unit. Worth it.

I usually leave my driveway free for the upstairs guys to use since they have people in and out. No big deal. But one night, I got home late—nearly 8—and my driveway was still clear. Perfect. I was about to pull in when I saw a random minivan slide into it like they owned the place.

No signal, no hesitation.

I stood on the sidewalk and waited. Figured maybe they were visiting my upstairs neighbors. But no one got out.

So I walked over. The woman in the passenger seat glared at me through the window and mouthed, “We’re just picking someone up.”

I said, “This is a paid spot.”

The guy driving? Didn’t even look at me. Just said, “We’ll be five minutes.”

I asked who they were picking up. The woman rolled her eyes. “Our niece. She lives somewhere in this building.”

Somewhere.

So not only did they not live here, they didn’t even know who they were picking up.

I told them again—calmly—that it was a reserved spot and they needed to move.

She muttered, “Jesus, some people are so territorial.”

So I walked inside. Didn’t argue.

I called the tow company.

Fifteen minutes later, that van was on a hook.

And as they came running out screaming, clutching juice boxes and diaper bags, all I said was—

“You said five minutes.”

The woman lost her mind. She started yelling something about her kids being in the backseat, how I endangered their lives, how she was going to call the cops. I just pointed at the sign that clearly read Reserved Parking. Violators Will Be Towed.

“I told you this was a paid spot,” I said, and walked back inside.

Now before you judge, I didn’t know the kids were in the back. The windows were tinted, it was getting dark, and I didn’t hear or see any movement. When the tow truck showed up, even they didn’t know until they had already started lifting the car.

The driver paused and asked me what I wanted to do. I told him, “If there are kids inside, maybe we hold off.” But by then, the parents were running out. Too late.

They blamed me like I’d left their kids in a desert. Meanwhile, they were the ones who left two toddlers in a locked car, engine off, no ventilation, to “run in for a minute.”

I figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

The next morning, I had a bright yellow note taped to my front door. “You endangered our children. Shame on you. Expect legal consequences.”

Okay.

Now, I’m not a lawyer, but I am a teacher—and I’ve taken enough safety training to know you don’t leave kids unattended in a vehicle, even for “just a few minutes.” Especially not in August.

But still, I was rattled. What if they did try to sue? I couldn’t afford that kind of drama.

So I did the next best thing: I talked to our property manager.

Turns out, I wasn’t the first one to have issues with these people.

They weren’t tenants. They were repeat visitors to some girl on the third floor who, according to the manager, “has a habit of inviting chaos.”

He pulled up the security footage. Not only had they parked in my spot, they had also used the visitor lot multiple times without checking in. And get this—they’d been warned before. Twice.

So the manager said, “You did nothing wrong. They’re on the blacklist now. If they show up again, we’ll handle it.”

Cool.

Or so I thought.

Two days later, my driver’s side mirror was hanging by a wire.

I wish I could say it was a coincidence, but the very next night, my tires were slashed.

That’s when I stopped being nice.

I filed a police report. Gave them the incident numbers, the footage, even the note they left on my door. The officer who came by told me, “You’ve got enough here for harassment charges.”

Still, they couldn’t do much without catching them in the act.

But karma? Karma has excellent timing.

A week later, I came home to flashing lights in the parking lot. Fire truck. Ambulance. Police car. The works.

Turns out, the same couple had parked in front of the fire lane—blocking emergency access—while picking up their niece again.

This time, an elderly man in the building had collapsed in the hallway. EMTs had to roll the gurney around the back entrance, wasting precious minutes.

The fire chief was livid.

So were the cops.

They wrote the couple a ticket the size of a rent check and informed them they were now trespassed from the property.

Forever.

When I heard what happened, I didn’t even smile. I just felt relief.

But the best part?

A week later, I got an apology letter.

It wasn’t from the parents—it was from their niece.

She wrote:

“I’m so sorry for what my family did to you. I tried to tell them not to park there. I’m embarrassed. I understand if you don’t want me to have visitors anymore. I just wanted you to know not everyone in my family acts like that.”

That letter? It meant more than I expected.

I wrote her back. Told her she was welcome here. That it wasn’t her fault. And I meant it.

A few weeks passed. The parking spot drama faded. I got my mirror fixed, replaced my tires, and life went on.

Then, another twist.

One afternoon, I was walking my dog when I noticed the girl from 3B—Nicole—sitting on the curb, crying.

I asked if she was okay.

She wiped her face and shook her head. “I just… I don’t know what to do. My aunt and uncle got into a fight with my mom. Now she won’t let me visit them anymore, and they were helping pay my tuition.”

I didn’t know what to say. We barely knew each other.

But something about her reminded me of my niece—how easily young people get caught in adult messes they didn’t ask for.

So I asked if she wanted to talk. We sat on the stairs for an hour.

Over the next few weeks, we became friends.

She started house-sitting for me when I traveled for work. Watched my dog. Watered my plants.

She even helped me fight the HOA when they tried to raise the parking fees again.

Funny how life works.

The same kid whose relatives made my life miserable ended up being someone I trusted completely.

Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t escalate things further.

I could’ve gone scorched-earth, pressed charges, made a big deal out of everything. But I handled it the best way I knew how—firm, but fair.

And in the end, it paid off.

Nicole graduated this year. Got into a grad program across the state. Before she moved, she brought me a thank-you card with a tiny dog keychain inside.

“I know you didn’t owe me anything,” she said. “But you were kind when you didn’t have to be.”

That got me.

Because here’s the thing—life gives you chances to be petty every day.

But it also gives you chances to be better.

Yes, I got their van towed. But I also tried to be decent where it counted.

And I think that made all the difference.

So if you’re ever in a situation where entitled people try to walk all over you—stand your ground.

Just don’t let it harden your heart.

You never know what kind of friendship might grow out of the ashes.

Would you have done the same in my shoes? Share this if you’ve ever dealt with entitled people—and let’s hear your story too.