Happy to report I made it out of the driveway today.
No, this is not a trick post. Turns out this morning, it was a little harder than usual to back out, and not on account of my questionable driving skills.
Our neighbors, parents of an infant, need a looooooong nap. I may offer Catherine to babysit for free, even.
D. pulled out of their driveway last night to let their guests leave, hopped out to bid them good-bye … and then left their car in front of our driveway.
All night long.
With the keys on the dashboard.
You can’t make this stuff up, truly you can’t.
Basil had to drive over the lawn to make it to work in the early-morning hours. (He didn’t realize the keys were there for the using.)
After getting no answer on their cell phones, I took a deep breath and knocked on their door at 7 am, and tried to be as nice as I could about it all.
I woke D. up and he was clearly embarrassed. K. just brought over a bottle of wine and a long, handwritten apology. It certainly wasn’t necessary. Everyone makes mistakes. Surely it’s unlikely this one will be repeated.
And it’s likely that before long we’ll do something to annoy them, although I’m pretty sure we’ll manage to keep our vehicles in their appointed resting places.
The whole thing got me thinking about people, though. It certainly takes all kinds, as I was again reminded a few minutes later in the market where I learned that the bread delivery man maintains quite a conversation with himself.
I don’t know if the loaves of Pepperidge Farm white were talking back, but he was certainly talking to them. “Perfect, perfect,” he kept affirming as he tidied each row of the cellophane-wrapped sandwich foundations.
As I reached over to grab a loaf, he wished me a good morning. Truthfully, I was unsure at first if he was talking to me, and I was more than a little wary about engaging him, but I managed to spit out a quick hello.
Had to hurry home, after all … in case the driveway was closed again.