Wednesday, 5:15 A.M.

I get to my office for a fun-filled day of cookbook publishing.  I park in my building's driveway, unlock the office door and decide I'd rather play on the Internet than work.  Hey, it's MY business.  If I want to play before working, who's to tell me I can't?!  So there I sit, checking out Geekfest and a few of my favorite www's.

At about 6:30, I see a man walk up to the front door of my building.  He pounds his fist on the door.  Doesn't knock, POUNDS.  WTF?!  He walks away.  I open the door.  He's about 10 feet away on the sidewalk.  'Can I help you?' I say.  'Yeah.  MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!'

~~~~~

A description of my building, driveway and parking lot to help you form a mental picture that you probably don't want to see, but I'm going to tell you about anyway.  It's relevant to this fascinating story.

My office is next to an apartment building.  There's a narrow driveway between the two buildings – about 12 feet wide – that I own, leading to a small parking lot (which I also own) behind my building.  The only access to the parking lot is this narrow drive. 

It's not an easement drive. 

It's mine. 

The parking lot is mine. 

They came with the building when I bought it about 15 years ago.  The property line of the apartment building ends at a small sidewalk that runs parallel to my drive.

Sometimes, people living in the apartments park their cars in my drive or parking lot.  Usually, I ask them not to park in my lot, and it's not a problem.  They all have assigned parking on the other side of the apartments, but they have to walk all of 75 feet or so to get to the main entrance of their building.  If they park in my lot, they only have to walk about 10 feet.

In the scheme of things, this is not a life or death situation.  Just an inconvenience for me to move my car whenever they want to get out, and for them, because they have to wait for me to move.  Besides, it's private property. 

MY private property. 

I don't park in their area, I don't expect them to park in mine.

Ok, now back to this riveting tale.  (Soon to be a major motion picture starring George Clooney as Yip [I wish], Ashton Kutcher as the troubled door pounder, and somebody [ANYbody] from Grey's Anatomy as the cute copper.  Special cameo appearances by Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman and that girl from Little Miss Sunshine...just for the 'cuteness' aspect.)

~~~~~

'MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR!' I stand there for a second, trying to figure out what's going on.  The guy is glaring at me.  Under different circumstances, I would have thought he was kind of cute...in an unhinged sort of way. 

There aren't any cars on the street, this guy's on foot.

'Why should I move my car?' I say, confused by his ranting and yelling.

'JUST MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!  NOW!!'  He's screaming.

In a split second I realize what's going on.  He's apparently parked his car in the lot behind my building.  When I got to work, there were no cars in the driveway, but I can't see what is or isn't behind the building.

'I SAID, MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!  YOU'RE BLOCKING ME!'

'Umm, you know you've parked….'

He takes a few steps toward me, 'FUCK YOU!  MOVE YOUR GODDAM CAR NOW!  YOU SON OF A BITCH!  I'LL MOVE THE CAR IF YOU WON'T AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY!'

When one is as old as I am, there's not a lot left to be scared of.  But this guy is scaring me.  I recognize most of the people who live in the apartments, but I've never seen him before. 

Does he have a gun? 

Is he drunk? 

Is he on drugs? 

One thing I know for sure, he's emotionally unstable.  Even though I really dislike being threatened, I decide that discretion truly is the better part of valor.

'Ok, calm down, let me get my key…'

'DON'T FUCK WITH ME!  HURRY UP AND MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR!  HURRY UP, GODDAM IT!  IT'S GONNA GET UGLY IF I HAVE TO MOVE THE FUCKING CAR FOR YOU, AND I WILL!'

'Calm down.  I'll move the car…'

'HURRY THE FUCK UP!  MOVE THE GODDAM CAR NOW!  YOU WANT ME TO MOVE IT FOR YOU?  HURRY UP GODDAM IT!'

I get my key and get in the car.  He's driving a late-model Ford pickup, which is a few feet in front of my car in the drive.  As I'm starting my car, he puts the pickup in gear and lurches toward me, stopping inches from my front bumper.  I back out, he screeches tires and shows me his middle finger.  (That was a clever touch.  Original, too.)  He burns rubber down the street.

Wow.  I go back to my office, trying to figure out exactly what just happened.  All of this took place in the span of about 1 and one-half minutes. 

I call the police.   A (nice looking!) cop shows up and takes my statement.  I describe the guy and his pickup.  I have his plate number, give it to the copper who runs it in his computer.  Nothing of interest regarding the plate number comes up. 

I say to the cop, 'I appreciate your coming.  This may be trivial stuff, but the guy really did scare the crap out of me.'

'Glad you called.  This is what we're here for.  If this happens again, call us immediately.  He could be 'on' something.  We don't want this to get out of hand, or physical.'

Got that right!

(BTW, casting is now being arranged for the Broadway musical version.  Unfortunately, Ethel Merman is not available for the part of Yip.)

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