I’m a construction foreman working on a home perched 250 feet up a steep hill—every piece of material we need has to be hauled up by hand. The only thing that makes the job manageable? Two clearly marked No Parking zones at the base of the hill, reserved for delivery trucks.
Normally, when someone mistakenly parks there, I ask them to move politely, and they almost always do. Almost.
Today was the exception.
I got a heads-up call from our lumber truck driver—he was just two minutes away, bringing all the framing material we needed for the roof. When I got down to the street, there she was: a mom parked squarely in one of our delivery spots, idling in her SUV, clearly waiting for her kid from the school half a block away.
I approached calmly and asked if she could please move.
She barely looked at me before rolling her eyes. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Your truck isn’t even here yet. Take a chill pill, dude.”
Before I could respond, our massive lumber truck turned the corner. I gave her another chance, asking more firmly this time.
That’s when she leaned out her window and said it:
“Can’t you guys just unload around me? Seriously, it’s not that hard.”
I gave her a polite smile and walked away—already hatching a plan.
Our driver, Roderick, pulled up slowly, immediately clocking the SUV in our designated spot. He leaned out the window and asked, “So… what now?”
Keeping my cool, I replied, “We’re going to do exactly what she asked—unload around her.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I nodded. “Let’s show her how ‘easy’ that is.”
We had five people on site that day: me, our carpenter Vaughn, two apprentices—Dominic and Sawyer—and Helena, our part-time framer with a reputation for lifting as much as any of the guys. We’d never had to offload this much material with a car blocking our zone, but we got to work.
I guided Roderick into the tightest space possible beside the SUV. The truck stuck out awkwardly into traffic, causing impatient drivers to honk as they squeezed past. The mom? Still parked, still tapping her foot on the brake pedal, pretending we weren’t there.
I turned to my team. “Alright, she wants us to work around her—so we will. Safely.”
We opened the truck. Sheet after sheet of plywood, two-by-sixes, and heavy roofing beams needed unloading. Instead of forming our usual quick assembly line, we had to lift over the SUV, maneuver around mirrors, and twist our bodies in awkward ways just to avoid scratching her car.
Every time I passed her window, I gave her a polite nod. Her face got redder by the minute.
Then, the school bell rang.
Within moments, the street exploded with chaos—kids spilling out, parents crowding for pick-up, horns blaring. Suddenly, the SUV mom was boxed in. With Roderick’s truck ahead of her and a minivan behind, she was stuck. Completely.
She rolled down her window, now visibly flustered. “Um, hey! Can you move the truck so I can leave?”
Roderick leaned out, shrugging. “Can’t move mid-unload, ma’am. It’d be unsafe.”
I chimed in. “You asked us to work around you. That’s what we’re doing. We’ll be done soon.”
Her frustration was obvious, but she didn’t say much—because she knew she’d cornered herself. Literally.
Ten minutes passed. Then her daughter appeared, backpack bouncing as she approached the SUV. The girl got in and whispered, “Mom, why are we parked here? It says no parking.”
Her mother forced a smile. “We’re leaving soon,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
We wrapped up the unloading, stacking the materials neatly despite the tight space. Once we cleared the truck, I guided Roderick forward inch by inch, with our team helping direct traffic until he could ease out.
Finally, the SUV had room to reverse. The mom rolled down her window again, but this time her voice was softer.
“I’m really late for a conference. I… sorry for the trouble. Can you speed things up?”
We could’ve rubbed it in. But instead, we helped her get out, waved her on her way, and got back to work.
She drove off without further comment, though a quiet “Thanks” slipped out before she left—maybe guilt, maybe relief.
Once the chaos cleared, a neighbor came out and set up cones to reinforce the no-parking signs. We waved thanks, then got back to the real task—hauling that load up the hill.
Later, sitting around sipping water under the sunset, Vaughn joked, “Next time, let’s build a fence around the spots.”
We all laughed, but Helena added, “At least she got a taste of what ‘working around her’ really means.”
Dominic nodded. “She probably had a lot going on… but still, a little respect goes a long way.”
That stuck with me.
Yes, people have busy lives, and yes, we all face pressure. But treating others like their time or effort doesn’t matter? That’s when problems arise. Today was proof: when you act like you’re more important than everyone else, you often end up causing more delays—for yourself.
So next time you feel like ignoring a rule or brushing someone off, think twice. A small act of cooperation can save everyone a whole lot of hassle.
Thanks for reading. If you appreciated the story or found a little lesson in it, feel free to share or hit like. Sometimes a simple reminder about mutual respect can go a long way—especially when lumber trucks are involved.