Neighborhood watch

or "Why I can only walk the dog under cover of darkness"

I offer this story as evidence that the parking situation on our street is making me crazy. Monday night I got off the commuter bus, checked the mail, and walked home. Robb was up at St. Anthony's helping with the blood drive. I made dinner and sat down in the living room to eat. It was then that I noticed the truck. It was mainly parked in front of our neighbor's house, but the nose protruded out past the edge of our driveway blocking maybe a third of our entrance. Just far enough to be annoying.

Since the Town changed the parking status from "residential permit" to "two hour only" in front of our house last month, it seems like our driveway gets blocked more often. Town residents usually have the ability to see a driveway, whereas shoppers and diners from out of town appear to have lost that ability in the course of evolution. And so we discover ourselves occasionally barricaded in or out of our driveway with tourist vehicles. Being trapped in the driveway is especially pesky, since I am always driving Robb to the emergency room.

On the way to Calvert Memorial I asked him, "Why am I always driving you to the emergency room?"

"Always? What do you mean always?"

"There's this time, and then when you had the kidney stone."

"That's only twice."

"Well, how many times have you driven me to the emergency room?" I asked.

Robb held up his hand, brought his fingertips and thumb together, and looked at me with one eye through the zero. Two definitely trumps zero.

"You see? Always."

While there had been no medical crisis so far this week, it was only Monday. And that truck was partially blocking our driveway. I squinted and gauged whether Robb could squeeze the Scion in or not. Not, I decided, and grabbed a phone book off the top of the fridge. The town office was closed for the day, so I called the Welcome Center instead. "Uh, hi, I was wondering if you could tell me who to contact if someone has parked in front of my driveway?" They told me to call the Calvert County Sheriff's office. The Sheriff? That seems a little extreme. I looked at the front end of the truck again, and got myself annoyed enough to make the call.

I sat on the couch and waited to see what would come first: the Sheriff's arrival or the truck's departure. Sukey ran up to the gate to bark at the Sheriff. I walked out on the deck and said hello. He pointed and asked if that was the truck. I said yes. He looked at the bumper of the truck, barely hanging an inch over the apron of our entrance. And he thought that he was dealing with a crazy woman, so I added, "My husband will be home in about an hour, and he won't be able to get the car in the driveway." But looking at the truck and the cop I felt like a crazy woman.

The Sheriff walked toward the truck, and about that time a man started across the yard out of my neighbor's house. The Sheriff asked if it was his truck, and he said yes. I dashed to the end of the deck and said to both of them, "Wait! I'm sorry, officer. I didn't know it was someone at my neighbor's house. I thought it was someone at the bar. I'm sorry for wasting your time." And the guy said it was okay, an honest mistake. And the Sheriff left. No harm, no foul.

Except, that's not what happened at all. The man started across the yard toward the Sheriff and said it was his truck. And at that exact moment when I could have stopped everything with a word, that's the exact moment that I began to die of embarrassment. Instead I slithered back into the living room with the dog and listened to the conversation outside. Now both of them were quite sure that I was a crazy woman. A crazy woman who calls the police on her next door neighbors. The man offered to move his truck, even though, he said, he had been parked there all day, and he didn't think we were home. The Sheriff didn't give him a ticket or anything like that, and the man moved his truck. And I paced back and forth, feeling like a complete asshole.

Several nervous minutes later, the lady who lives next door walked over with her daughter. I went outside and tried to overwhelm them with embarrassed apologies, "Ohmygoodness I am SO SORRY I didn't know that he was at your house thought it was someone at the bar Robb got blocked in last week one day this parking situation is making me crazy again so sorry I didn't know I will recognize his truck from now on terrible mistake...." And then we talked coherently for a few minutes, and I apologized several more times before they left.

I considered wearing a disguise if I went outside: dark glasses, a fake mustache, and a fedora. But I wound up watching movies with the blinds drawn and laying low. Robb said, "You're being too hard on yourself."

"Oh, yeah? How many times have you called the police on your neighbor?"

"Recently or ever?"

"Ever."

"Only one less time than you." !!!! Ah, one trumps zero, too.