Sometimes the best way to get back at someone isn’t through complicated plans or court cases. You just need to know where to park your rusty F-150 and be willing to wait for fate to do its thing.
People often say that you shouldn’t mess with old people because they’ve seen it all. That’s true, as my grandfather Lionel is still alive to show.
They’ve lived in the same cozy mountain house for more than forty years.
Around here, everything has a story. The old oak tree they planted when my mom was born, the wind chimes my grandfather made by hand, and even the stone steps my grandmother still swept every morning.
They loved their peaceful spot with a view of the valley. There had been an empty lot next door for years, which was steep and wasn’t used.
Before the machines came, things were that way.
In the afternoon, my grandmother called me.
“Sweetheart, the hill is being eaten away by a bulldozer.” “Part of it is our land,” she said in a voice that was shaking but steady.
“Are you sure, Grandma?” I asked, imagining the property I’d spent many summers as a child there. “Perhaps they are just pushing things back near the line?”
“Nathan, I’ve walked that line of property every day for forty years.” I know where our chalk is. They’re going right through our corner lot.
I tried to make her feel better. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it was a mistake.” “Did you tell Grandpa?”
“He has an appointment with his doctor.” I don’t want to bother him just yet.
“All right, all right. I told her, “Let me know what happens when he gets home.” I had no idea what was about to happen.
I thought it was probably just a mistake by the worker that could be fixed with a quick talk. I was so wrong.
They came home that day from running chores to find a scar in their yard. It was the start of a road with a series of turns that led up to the lot next door.
It was clear that the road went through the corner of their land.
While still being calm, Grandpa walked down the hill to talk to the digger operator.
He raised his hand and said, “Hey there.” “Do you happen to have a plot map?” That part of the drive… It’s on our land.
The man looked down at the machine. His face was dirty and sweaty. “That’s not my business, sir. I’m just doing what I’m told. Call the person who owns the lot.
He gave Grandpa a business card with his name and number written on it.
Grandpa called that night.
“Hi, my name is Lionel.” You’re building on Westridge next to us. I believe a mistake has been made. “Your crew cut through our lot.”
Stillness.
The man on the other end of the line said, “No mistake.” We looked at the satellite pictures.
Grandpa made a face. “Sir, we’ve marked our property pins.” Your road goes over our land by at least ten feet.
“Okay, then sue me.” I’m not going to change it now. It’s too late.
Press.
The other person hung up.
Grandpa was still holding the phone in his hand as he stood in the kitchen.
He said in a low voice, “He hung up on me.”
Grandma, who was always calm, put her hand on his arm. “Leonard, it’s just land.” “Let’s not start a fight.”
That’s not what this was, though. It was not about land.
It was about being rude.
The drive got longer over the weeks. Even though crews worked six days a week, no one came to the door to say sorry or offer payment.
It looked like they didn’t even notice that Grandpa was worried.
“This is where we raised our kids,” Grandma told me one afternoon when I was there. “We put the garden there every summer on that slope.” Then he drives over it like it doesn’t matter… It’s… it breaks my heart.
As tears ran down her face, I could feel my blood boil. “This is wrong, Grandma.” “Have you all talked to a lawyer?”
She turned her head away. “The stress is not good for your grandfather.” Peace is worth more than a few feet of dirt at our age, he says. I agree with him, to be honest.
I agreed with Grandpa, but inside I didn’t feel that way.
I knew that court cases cost a lot of money, cause a lot of stress, and can last for years, but I thought my grandparents deserved better in their golden years.
Then Patrick, my friend’s dad, came by one day while he was walking his dog. He lived next door to my grandparents and had known them for years.
“Heard about the new guy?” As she gave him a sweet tea, his grandmother asked.
Patrick gave a nod. “Okay.” “I saw the mess.”
Grandpa told him about the call, the firing, and the work that was still being done.
Patrick shook his head and said, “What a piece of work.” “This is not okay…” Don’t worry, though. I need to think about it. “I think I can figure it out.”
Patrick drank a few beers that night and called Grandpa.
“Colonel.” I have a thought. But it’s not really what you’d expect.
“Hey Patrick, I hear you.” Grandpa’s voice got more interested.
“Is it okay if I park my old truck on that part of the driveway?” Of course, only on your land. I promise it won’t be anything illegal in the note I leave. I only want to text that guy, and I’m sure that will finish the job!”
Grandpa laughed. “What do you think, Patrick?” Sure, go ahead. Someone needs to stand up to this bully.
Grandma laughed for the first time in weeks when he told her about Patrick’s offer. “Patrick and that rusty truck of his are in my prayers,” she said, her eyes twinkling with fun.
The same night, my grandmother called me and spoke in a low voice, as if she were planning to rob a bank. “Patrick is going to do something crazy!”
I couldn’t help but smile after she told me about the plan. “Grandma, don’t worry.” Things will go well. “Guys like that neighbor learn their lesson in the end.”
The next morning, a rusty, broken-down F-150 pulled up across the road.
It was parked straight on the strip that went across the land my grandparents owned. PUBLIC PROPERTY was written on the window. People who break in will be reported.
The building crew got there at 8 a.m.
One of the workers said, “What the hell is this?” as they looked at the truck that was in their way.
Patrick answered the phone when they called the number on the note.
Patrick was sure, “Yeah, that’s my truck.” “That’s okay for me to park there.” It’s theft if you touch it. Also, I called the cops to make sure it was recorded.
The boss let out a sigh. “Well, we can’t carry those two-by-sixes up that hill by hand.” “Let us call the boss.”
After an hour, the new neighbor called Grandpa.
“Colonel! “Move that truck, or I’ll call a tow truck,” he yelled into the phone.
Grandpa said, “Go ahead and try.” He was as calm as ever. “You’re the one breaking the law.”
“Old man, you’ll feel bad about this!”
Grandpa laughed. “I already feel bad that I didn’t charge you for an easement when you first started digging.”
The neighbor hung up once more.
There were days when the truck didn’t move. There was no construction, and rumors spread through the area. Grandma got waves from everyone as if she’d done something great.
The next weekend, I drove up to see Grandpa. He was sitting on the porch with binoculars in his hands, watching the building site.
“Having fun?” I asked.
He smiled and said, “More fun than I’ve had in years.” “Three different tow companies have shown up.” When Patrick showed them the land survey and told them what was going on, they all left.
The neighbor called again after a few days.
He snapped, “Fine.” “What do you need?”
Grandpa didn’t think twice. “A contract for an easement.” Value on the market. “Written.”
“What about the truck?”
“As soon as we get a signed contract and a check, it will go.”
After a week, the check was cashed and the papers were signed. When Grandpa gave Patrick the go-ahead, Patrick took the truck off right away.
The money was finally used to fix up their porch and give to the food bank in their area.
At the same time, my grandparents sent three cases of beer and a thank-you card to Patrick.
The next month, when I went back, the new house was almost done. When my grandparents were outside, the neighbor didn’t look at them.
“Do you know what’s funny?” As we stood outside the house, Grandpa said. “He could have used that corner for free if he had just asked nicely the first time.”
I smiled. “Some people need a rough start to learn how to do this.”
“And some learn it from an old, rusty truck,” Grandma said with a smile.
It wasn’t just dirt in that part of land. Forty years of memories and limits. In that same place, my grandpa taught me that you don’t always need lawyers or shouting matches to stand up for yourself.
Sometimes, all you need are some friends, some time, and to know exactly where to park.
