As a foreman, I’ve seen a lot in 20 years of construction, but never anyone quite like the mom who rolled into our no-parking zone like rules were for other people. When I politely asked her to move, she told me to “deal with it.”
I just smiled—and karma handled the rest minutes later.
Have you ever had one of those days when someone else’s entitled attitude becomes your unexpected entertainment? Let me tell you about my morning. I’ve never seen karma work so fast… or hit so hard.
I’m Bob, and I’m 40 years old. I’m a foreman for a construction crew bustin’ our backs building a house halfway up Mount Hellscape. Okay, not a real mountain, but 250 feet up a narrow footpath sure feels like one when you’re hauling plywood on your shoulder in the July heat.
We’ve been working this gig for weeks now. There’s no road to the build site. Just a footpath. That means every damn board, beam, pipe, and nail has to be lugged uphill by hand.
The only break we get? Two sacred parking spots at the bottom of the hill, marked clear as day: No Parking. Tow Away Zone. Those two spots are our only shot at keeping deliveries running halfway smooth.
“Bob!” my buddy Mike called from the scaffolding. “Jerry’s on the phone. Says the lumber delivery’s coming early.”
I wiped the sweat from my brow and grabbed my cell.
“Jerry? How far out are you, pal?”
“Three minutes tops, man. Got your roof trusses and everything else on the manifest.”
“I’ll clear the loading zone. See you in three.”
I pocketed my phone and started down the narrow dirt path that connected our hilltop site to civilization.
As the path curved, I caught sight of a gleaming white SUV parked squarely in one of our spots. Through the windshield, I could make out a woman texting on her phone, engine idling.
I felt the familiar twitch in my jaw. The elementary school half a block away meant we dealt with this at least twice daily. Usually, a polite request was enough. Usually. But not always.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I called, approaching her driver’s side window with what I hoped was a friendly expression. “You’re parked in our construction loading zone. We’ve got a lumber delivery arriving any minute.”
She glanced up from her phone, window descending halfway.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said, barely looking at me. “Your truck isn’t even here. Take a chill pill, dude.”
The window hummed back up and the conversation was over.
“Ma’am, please—” I started, but the rumble of a heavy engine cut me off.
Jerry’s massive delivery truck appeared around the corner, loaded with enough lumber to frame our entire roof. I waved him forward, pointing to our predicament seated in the car.
I knocked on the lady’s window again. After several taps, it lowered halfway.
“WHAT?” she snapped.
“The delivery truck is here,” I explained, keeping my voice calm. “You’re parked in a clearly marked no-parking zone. We really need you to move now.”
She looked past me at Jerry’s idling truck, then back to me with narrowed eyes.
“Can’t you guys just unload around me? Like, what’s the big deal? It’s not that hard.”
The window went up again, and my customer service smile froze on my face.
“Fine,” I muttered, walking away. “We’ll work around you.”
“What’s the plan, Bob?” Jerry asked, leaning out his window, watching me approach.
A slow smile spread across my face.
“She wants us to work around her. Let’s do exactly that.”
Jerry’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Say no more!”
“Pull in as close to her driver’s side as you legally can,” I instructed. “Let’s see how she likes being boxed in between you and the porta-potty.”
Jerry nodded, expertly maneuvering his truck to block the SUV’s driver’s side door with barely an inch to spare. With the porta-potty on one end and a legally parked car on the other, our entitled mom was now completely boxed in.
“Perfect,” I said, unable to suppress my grin.
“She looks mad,” Jerry chuckled, glancing in his side mirror.
“Let’s start unloading. I’ll make a call.”
“Who ya calling?” Jerry asked, already lowering the truck gate.
“Parking enforcement. Just to cover our bases.”
“Bob!” someone shouted from up the hill. I turned to see my crew arriving to help with the unloading.
“Let’s move, guys! We’ve got a roof to build!”
As my crew began the backbreaking process of hauling the lumber up the hill, I noticed movement in the SUV. Our entitled mom just realized her predicament. I could see her gesturing wildly on her phone, occasionally shooting daggers at me with her eyes.
“The parking officer said she’ll be here in about 30 minutes,” I told Jerry as we supervised the unloading.
“That long?” Jerry sighed, then brightened. “Well, we’ll still be here. This is at least an hour’s job.”
Twenty minutes into our unloading, a small boy in a blue backpack approached the SUV, tapping on the passenger window.
Entitled mom had finally realized she couldn’t exit through her driver’s side door. We watched as she awkwardly climbed across the center console, tumbling out the passenger side in a less-than-graceful heap.
“Mommy, why are you coming out that way?” the boy asked loudly enough for us to hear.
“Because these IDIOTS blocked me in,” she hissed, straightening her designer blouse while glaring in our direction.
She ushered her son into the back seat, then stormed over to where Jerry and I stood checking off inventory items.
“I need to leave NOW!” she demanded, arms crossed tightly. “Move. Your. Truck.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Jerry beat me to it.
“Ma’am, in order to unload the lumber, we had to unstrap it,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “Company policy strictly prohibits moving the truck with an unsecured load. Safety regulations. I’m sure you understand.”
Her face flushed crimson.
“Trash your policy! I have somewhere to be!”
“We asked you nicely to move earlier,” I reminded her. “You told us to work around you. That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
“This is ridiculous! I’m going to report both of you!”
At that moment, a parking enforcement vehicle pulled up behind Jerry’s truck. Officer Martinez stepped out, clipboard in hand.
The entitled mom hadn’t noticed the new arrival yet. She was too busy jabbing her finger in my direction.
“I swear to God, if you don’t move this truck right now—”
I couldn’t resist.
“Can’t you just pull out around it? It’s not that hard.”
Her eyes widened as she recognized her own words thrown back at her. The look on her face was worth every second of this confrontation.
“Screw you!” she spat, spinning on her heel and marching back to her SUV.
Officer Martinez approached us, eyebrows raised.
“Morning, Bob. Got your call about the parking situation.”
Before I could explain further, the roar of an engine drew our attention. The entitled mom had climbed back into her SUV through the passenger door and thrown it into reverse.
“Oh no,” Jerry murmured…
The SUV lurched backward with a screech of tires and a spray of gravel.
“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Jerry shouted, hands up like he could physically stop a two-ton vehicle with sheer will.
I took a step forward. “She’s gonna—”
CRUNCH.
Too late.
The back of her SUV collided squarely with the front bumper of the parking enforcement vehicle. Not a tap. A full-on crunch that set off both her alarm and Officer Martinez’s stunned silence.
For a second, the only sounds were the shrill wail of the car horn and the sharp click of Martinez’s pen as she started writing.
The mom climbed out of the SUV—yes, again through the passenger door—her face pale and eyes wide.
She threw her arms up.
“WHY was she parked RIGHT behind me?! This is entrapment! You all BLOCKED me in!”
Officer Martinez remained calm, but her voice had that professional steel only law enforcement can pull off.
“Ma’am, you were parked illegally in a clearly marked tow-away zone. You refused to move when asked, and then reversed into a government vehicle. That’s not entrapment. That’s reckless driving. Please provide your license and registration.”
The woman let out a high-pitched scoff, clearly deciding she wasn’t going down quietly.
“You have no idea who I am. My husband is on the school board, and I am calling my lawyer.”
Jerry leaned over to me, whispering, “Bet she says ‘my taxes pay your salary’ next.”
And, like clockwork—
“My taxes pay for this nonsense! This is abuse of power!”
Martinez didn’t flinch. “Ma’am, step aside while I document the damage. If you continue to obstruct this process, I will be forced to escalate.”
I tried not to smile.
Jerry didn’t even try.
As Martinez began taking photos of the damage, the crew on the hill paused to watch. Word had spread fast—like wildfire through dry brush. Half of them were munching sandwiches now, fully invested in the unfolding drama.
Just then, a minivan pulled up. Out hopped another mom—this one in sweatpants, phone pressed to her ear. She rushed to the SUV, peeking in the back window.
“Is that—Jessica? Girl, what happened?”
Entitled Mom turned, red-faced, flustered.
“These jerks trapped me! All I did was park for a minute!”
The new mom glanced around—at the massive delivery truck, the blocked car, the officer writing a ticket, and finally, the battered bumper of the enforcement vehicle.
“…Yeah, I don’t think you’re winning this one.”
The delivery finished. The crew had long since cleared half the trusses. Jerry was signing off the manifest with a flourish when Officer Martinez handed Entitled Mom her citations.
“Three tickets,” she said plainly. “Illegal parking in a construction zone, reckless operation of a vehicle, and damage to public property. You’ll receive further notice regarding the repair costs.”
The woman stared at the papers like they might burst into flames.
“You’ll regret this!” she snarled.
Martinez didn’t blink.
“Have a nice day.”
Entitled Mom climbed back into her SUV, defeated, and for the third time, clambered over her center console like a raccoon in yoga pants.
As she drove off—very slowly this time—Jerry turned to me, clapping his hands together.
“Well,” he said, stretching, “that was the best coffee break I’ve had all month.”
I nodded.
“Yep. Karma may not always be on time… but when she shows up, she delivers.”
