I leaned down to his open window, looked directly at him, and said, calm as morning: Rick, I already called the tow truck. It is on its way. I just wanted you to hear it from me first, neighbor to neighbor, before it costs you.
The grin slid right off his face.
For two years I had asked and asked, and every time Rick had made a joke and wasted my time and moved when he felt like it, all while telling the neighborhood I was the angry guy who could not let little things go. So this time, before I walked out with my coffee, I had done the one thing I should have done a year ago. I had called a licensed towing company and reported a vehicle blocking a private driveway, which is entirely legal, and they had said they would be there in fifteen minutes.
I did not raise my voice, I did not threaten him, I did not touch his truck, I simply informed him, politely, of a consequence that was already in motion and entirely of his own making.
Rick laughed again, but it was nervous now. He said I would not really do that, that we were neighbors, that I needed to relax. I told him he had about twelve minutes to move his truck if he wanted to avoid the fee and the trip to the impound lot, and that the choice was entirely his.
The neighbors walking their dogs had stopped to watch. For once, they were not watching the angry guy. They were watching a man calmly stand up for himself while Rick sweated behind the wheel.
He tried to make it my fault. He said I was overreacting, that it was just a truck, that he was about to move anyway. I just sipped my coffee and looked at my watch.
At minute eight, the tow truck turned onto our street. And Rick, seeing it, finally understood I was not bluffing. He started his engine, threw the truck in gear, and moved it, fast, into his own driveway where it belonged, muttering the whole time.
I waved the tow truck driver over, apologized for the trip, and paid him a small fee for coming out, which was worth every penny, because Rick saw me do it. He saw that I would rather pay to enforce my own driveway than ask him one more time.
He never blocked my driveway again. Not once. Because now he knew that the next time, I would not walk over to warn him. I would just let the truck do its work.
The best part came a week later, when one of the dog-walking neighbors stopped me and said, quietly, that they had always known Rick was the problem, and that it was good to finally see me stop taking it. Two years of being called the angry guy, undone by one calm phone call and a cup of coffee. I make my early meetings now. Every single one.