My Neighbor Kept Parking in Front of My Garage – One Day, I Taught Him a Lesson He Won’t Forget

My neighbor Todd used to park his beat-up blue Civic right in front of my garage. Every. Single. Morning.

Like clockwork, I’d head out at 7:15 for work—and there it was, blocking my only way out. At first, I was nice. A gentle knock, a polite ask. Todd would stumble out half-asleep in his boxers, mumble an apology, and move it.

Next day? Same story.

After a week, I was irritated. Two weeks? Furious. By week three, I was hammering on his door like a repo man—yelling, pleading, even putting up a giant DO NOT BLOCK DRIVEWAY sign. Nothing worked. Todd just didn’t care.

“It’s just for a minute,” he’d grumble, like that made it okay.

Then one night, after the sixth offense that week, I lost it.

Barefoot, in my robe, I grabbed two jumbo cans of whipped cream, a roll of cling wrap, a Sharpie, and an old tub of glitter. I went outside and got to work.

I coated every inch of his car in whipped cream, wrapped the whole thing in cling film like a dairy sarcophagus, doodled googly eyes on the headlights, and wrote a polite message across the windshield (on the plastic, I’m not evil). Then I dumped the glitter on top like a sparkly cherry.

The next morning, I watched with my coffee as Todd stepped outside. He just… stared. No yelling, no complaints. Just hours of silent, sticky cleanup.

And guess what?

He’s never blocked my garage again.

Turns out, some people don’t respond to reason. They respond to whipped cream justice.