In case I haven’t previously established it clearly enough, the guy upstairs is an asshole. First off, he has to be some kind of criminal. There are too many reasons to explain why I think he’s a criminal, but trust me he is. Okay, I’ll give you two quick reasons. The first is he’s always doing strange things down in the basement like meeting people in it at all hours of the day and night. Not only that but his storage cage down there has a padlock on it even though they already come with locks so no extra ones are needed (unless, of course, you don’t want the landlord to have access to it). The second reason is one day he bumped into my wife outside and gave her his cell and work phone numbers. He then inquired in a mundane tone—say the type a neighbor would use if they were asking to borrow a cup of sugar: “If you ever see someone trying to force their way into my place, can you call the cops and then me?” Nice, huh? It made me yearn for the good ol’ days when your neighbors used to say things like: “Cold enough for ya?” and “Hey, dickhead, stop stealing my newspaper.”

Oh, and he also beats his woman in the middle of the night. That is just rude. Everyone knows you should only beat your woman during the day so you won’t wake up the people  that live downstairs. Well, my wife is trying to sleep and it wakes her up. Me, it just distracts. Hey, I’m appalled by it as much as you are but the guy must be connected because nothing ever happens to the bastard. But the rudest thing he has done so far is he doesn’t share the driveway. He always leaves a huge space between his car and my wife’s but he never moves up so I can fit behind him. We share the driveway with the people next door and if their cars are parked in it then I can’t maneuver mine around asshole's to park in the space between.

Before we moved in, our landlords mislead us about the parking. The wife landlord told us there was enough parking for four cars: two in the front and two in the back. However, when we got here we discovered that the back of the duplex is a makeshift yard that doesn’t lead to an alley or driveway. It’s a dead end. So if you're parked in back and there are two cars parked on our side in the front of the driveway, and two cars parked on next door’s side, you’re not getting out of the driveway. Simple mathematics, right? Since my wife works from home and hardly drives, she parks her car towards the back. Before asshole moved in, I parked in the front. When the previous tenant lived upstairs, depending on who got home first, one of us always parked in the middle and left room for the other. It's not rocket science.

This problem all started because one of the biggest hurdles I need to overcome in my life is I’m just too damn polite and considerate. It's my parents' fault for raising me that way. Later on in life, I turned into a total creep bastard but my wife—who is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet—changed my wicked ways. I’ll never forgive her for that. On the day we knew asshole was moving in, I decided to be nice and move my car temporarily out of the driveway and put it on the street. That way if he had a moving truck coming, he could park it in the driveway and have a stress free move. And my thoughtfulness has pretty much cost me my parking space ever since. I guess he mistook my act of kindness as proof that it was now his space. At first, I figured he’ll get the gist that we all park in the driveway and will start leaving me space. He didn’t. Maybe, I thought, he’s not too bright.

Lately, he must be working a real job because he’s gone for most of the day and part of the evening. As a result, there have been a few times I have actually been able to park in the driveway. Each time I have suppressed the urge to be a dick, and left him space to park behind me. Surely, he’ll get it this time, right? Then the next time he gets home before me, he’ll leave me room to park, right? Yeah, right. Now I’ve concluded he’s not stupid, he’s just an asshole (hence the term of endearment I use when I refer to him). I know what you’re all thinking. Just say something to him. Well, every time I’ve been pissed enough to go up there and do just that, by some freak coincidence at that exact moment, he always manages to be preoccupied with throwing his girlfriend down the stairs. And what do you say to someone tumbling down the steps as you’re trying to make your way up? “Cold enough for ya?” You can imagine what an awkward situation it would be. And small talk was never my strong suit to begin with.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty stocky guy. He won’t be throwing me anywhere. And I have told him in the past to lower his stereo. The thing is his girlfriend is just as crazy as he is (she has to be since she keeps coming back to him) and one night when they were fighting, I could hear her screaming (through the previously mentioned paper thin ceiling), “Do you have a permit for that? Then kill me, motherfucker, kill me.” Talk about your tender moments. It was as touching as Popsicle Jack telling Rose she must go on. Now the fact she mentioned a permit leads me to believe he isn’t about to challenge her to a pillow fight. Unless things have changed without my knowledge, I don’t think you need a permit for goose feathers. Call me crazy but I don’t want to be shot in the heat of anger over a stupid parking space. After all, I hate this area and this apartment and we’re getting the hell out of here soon anyway so it’s not worth dying over.

However, last night I did reach my breaking point. It snowed here on Tuesday and since then parking on our street sucks because there is still a lot of it on the ground. My wife and I got home and, as usual, he was parked in the driveway. Spaces were scarce and the prick couldn’t even leave me room this one fucking time. The people we share the driveway with were parked in their spaces so I couldn’t drive around his car. And the people next door on the opposite side had their cars parked in front of our apartment and theirs. I forgot to tell you about these chuckleheads. They do this all of the time. They’re fanatical about parking their cars in front of their place and ours. These people will move their car from across the street if a space opens up in front of either place. Or one of them will park in the middle of the two so no one else can park there. They wait for the other to get home and make room for them to park. What is up with that? I’m too lazy to be bothered doing all of that. It’s just a big to do. Why are the people around here so fucking obsessed with parking? And is the fact that I am blogging about it mean that I, too, have become obsessed?

But back to last night. I was forced to park across the street and my car got stuck in the snow. I just said the hell with it and hoped the ice would be melted when I left this afternoon and I could get my car out (it was and I did). Tonight when we got home, I was shocked to see the driveway was empty. Could it be possible? Was it a mirage? I pulled into the driveway. It was slippery and icy but it wasn’t a mirage. Oh, yeah, I also forgot to mention the asshole landlords didn’t have the walk or driveway shoveled even though it’s stated in the lease it’s their responsibility. Now it’s like you’re ice skating to the front door. Hey, boys and girls, can you say lawsuit? Anyway, there were no other parking spaces available on the street. Even one of the drones next door was forced to park their car across the street. Some car I didn’t recognize was parked in front of our place.

It was at that moment I decided tonight would be the night I would teach the asshole a lesson. I would be the one to slam down the nail of justice. I didn’t leave him any room. Tonight he would be the one inconvenienced. Where would he park? Where would he put his precious Lexus SUV? A wicked smile crept across my face. An evil snicker escaped my breath. Tonight victory would finally be mine.

An hour or so later, I could hear him come home and make his way up the steps to his apartment. I suppressed my giggles of perverse joy so they wouldn't escape into the hall where he could hear them. Then I couldn’t resist any longer and looked out the front window to see where he ended up parking knowing I wouldn’t be able to see his car. No doubt it was all the way down the street somewhere buried in a pile of white powder.

I peeked through the blinds and what I saw assured me that Mario luck is still alive and well. That the Big Guy upstairs certainly must hate my guts. For the sight that greeted me was asshole’s car. It was parked right in front of the fucking apartment. The car that had been parked there was now gone. What happened to him being inconvenienced for once? What happened to my nail of justice? Where was my lesson? It was then the words of the great philosopher Charles Brown echoed in my mind: “Uggggggg!!” Yes, Chuck, uggggg indeed.

I have always felt that irony has defined my life. Tonight it struck once again for it was I who ended up learning the lesson.

The nail of justice is rusty…