I’ve lived in my quiet neighborhood for almost ten years. It’s a place where lawns are neat, people wave as they pass, and things stay peaceful—until Tim moved in next door.

At first, Tim seemed friendly. We exchanged pleasantries, and I thought we’d get along. But soon, I discovered his sense of entitlement. One afternoon, he knocked on my door, asking if he could use my driveway while his was being repaved. I politely declined, explaining that my family needed the space.

Despite our conversation, Tim continued parking his truck in my driveway. I found myself getting increasingly frustrated, especially as his actions disrupted our family routine.

After several warnings, I decided to involve the homeowners’ association. But then, things escalated. One morning, I discovered bright orange spray paint on my lawn reading: “SELFISH JERK.” My heart sank as I realized my pristine yard was ruined for all to see.

I confronted Tim, who laughed at my anger. “What are you going to do about it?” he taunted. Furious but restrained, I decided to report the incident to the police, who could only document it.

Feeling powerless, I reached out to my brother Andrew, who runs a landscaping company. He suggested a harmless chalk-based dye we could use for some fun. We spent the weekend revamping my lawn, laying down new sod and installing a sprinkler system with the dye.

On Sunday morning, as expected, Tim was out walking his dog. I watched from my porch, coffee in hand, as he was suddenly blasted with bright blue water. The look on his face was priceless as he ran off, soaked and cursing.

Later, he stormed over, blue stains covering his clothes. “What the hell, man?” he shouted.

I simply leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed. “What are you going to do, Tim? Call the cops over some water?”

Speechless, he turned and walked away. Since then, he hasn’t parked in my driveway or pulled any stunts. I’m just waiting for him to try something else; I’ll be ready to teach him another lesson.