I’ve lived in this quiet neighborhood for almost ten years. It’s the kind of place where lawns are neat, people wave as they pass, children smile and laugh, and things stay peaceful—until Tim moved in next door.

At first, he seemed fine. Friendly enough. Tim introduced himself, we exchanged a few pleasantries, and I thought we’d get along just fine.

“I’m Tim,” he said. “The wife and I just moved in. We enjoyed the city life for a while, but Opal decided that we needed a quiet place.”

“I’m Brian,” I said, genuinely interested in him. “I’ve lived here forever with my family. If you’re looking for peaceful, you’ve come to the right place.”

“I’ve always wanted a place where the neighbors and I could just sit back and have a barbecue and a beer,” Tim laughed.

“I look forward to it!” I said, walking down the front porch with him. I was getting ready to do a grocery run.

Everything was fine, and over the next two weeks, I saw Tim often as he settled into his new home, carrying boxes.

Then, one afternoon, he knocked on my door and asked if he could use my driveway while his was being repaved.

“The guys said that it would take about two days, three days at most. I can’t leave the truck on the side of the road, it’s a little too big.”

“I’m sorry, bud,” I said. “Kelsey and I have two cars, and the kids have their own. You know teenagers, they’re always coming and going.”

“Yeah, I get that, Brian, but it’s just for a few days. No more.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s nothing personal, Tim, it’s just practical.”

He huffed away from the door and stomped down the driveway.

I thought that I was fair with what I did: I was open and honest with Tim, and there shouldn’t have been any hard feelings, right?

I was wrong.

The next morning, after I loaded the dishwasher, I was ready to get to work. I stepped outside, enjoying the morning sun for a few minutes before I saw Tim’s truck parked halfway into my driveway, blocking me in.

“Is this guy serious?” I muttered under my breath.

The kids had to get to school, Kelsey would leave shortly too. I was already running late, and this guy’s actions had just made me mad. I mean, we had spoken about this. I had told him how I felt about it. And he still parked his car here?

I marched straight over to his door and knocked hard.

When Tim opened up, he was wearing pajamas and a nightgown.

“Tim, I told you about parking your truck in my driveway,” I said.

He just shrugged.

“It’s just for a few hours, man,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Move it, Tim. Now. We’ve all got places to be,” I said.

I glared at him.

He sighed dramatically, but he moved the truck and hooted as I drove off.

I thought that would be the last time, but it wasn’t. Over the next week, he kept doing it. His truck, visiting friends’ vehicles, boxes, and lawn equipment. It didn’t matter—he would just leave things in my driveway.

If there was space, good old Tim would use it.

Finally, I had enough.

“Don’t fight with him, love,” my wife, Kelsey, told me when we were having dinner, and I was complaining about Tim.

“But if nothing changes, he’s just going to continue this behavior,” I said, cutting into the roast chicken.

“Then call the homeowners’ association, Brian. File a complaint. You know they won’t let it go. They’ll give him a warning, and that should be enough.”

I nodded. That was the more diplomatic option.

But that’s when things got ugly.

The next morning, I stepped outside to find bright orange spray paint scrawled across my lawn. In huge, bold letters, it read: SELFISH JERK.

I almost punched the wall when I saw it. My lawn, which I’d taken so much pride in, was ruined. And worse, the entire neighborhood could see it.

I took photos of the message, marched over to Tim’s house, and pounded on his door. When he opened up, he was grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the prank of the year.

“Do you really think this is funny?” I snapped, shoving my phone in his face.

“What are you going to do about it?” he laughed. “Call the cops over some paint?”

I clenched my fists, barely holding myself back. I hated when people took advantage of me.

“You’re going to regret this,” I said, turning to leave before I did something I’d regret.

I drove straight to the police station.

I filed a police report, but there wasn’t much they could do. Tim hadn’t damaged any property exactly, and the paint wasn’t permanent. The police could only document the incident. I needed a plan of my own, and soon enough, I had the perfect idea.

What Tim didn’t know was that my brother runs a landscaping company.

“I need your help, Andrew,” I said, quickly telling him everything that had gone on.

My brother laughed for a few minutes.

“I’ve got you sorted, brother,” he said. “We’ve got a new dye that will make sprinklers fun!”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was the best in the business, and I knew that he would fix my lawn and still try to teach Tim a lesson or two.

That weekend, Andrew came over with his crew and all the equipment that they needed. We spent the entire day ripping up my front lawn, digging out the ruined grass, and laying down new, flawless sod.

But that wasn’t the best part. Andrew finally explained what he meant about the dye.

“It’s a harmless chalk-based dye,” he said. “We developed it for a project at one of the schools. It was an installation that involved lights and sprinklers and patterns. I won’t get into the entire thing, but it will teach this guy a lesson.”

I laughed with my brother, thinking about Tim’s reaction to the new sprinkler system.

Come Sunday morning, as I had expected, Tim was out walking his dog right past my house. I stood outside on the porch, my coffee in hand, ready to watch the show.

Right on schedule, Tim and his dog were blasted with bright blue water, soaking them both from head to toe.

The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He took off running, dripping with blue dye, cursing under his breath. I would have felt bad, but the dye was harmless and would wash out easily. But the joy was that he was humiliated in front of the entire neighborhood.

Later that day, Tim stormed over, blue stains all over his clothes.

“What the hell, man?” he yelled at me.

I leaned against my doorframe, crossing my arms.

“What are you going to do, Tim? Call the cops over some water?”

He stared at me, speechless, then turned and walked away without another word.

Since then, he hasn’t parked in my driveway or pulled any stunts. But honestly, I’m just waiting for him to do something else. I’ll just continue to teach him a lesson.