My poor rug… sucked up so much flood water and gunk… a total mess…
Before it can be picked up and cleaned, it has to be dried out. You are supposed to get it in the sunlight as quickly as possible, lay it out flat (never hang it over a wall, or the colors will run), and flip it from front to back every couple hours.
Yesterday, I gave the rug a full day of tender, loving, drying care, and laid it out in a neighbor’s empty parking space across from mine because the sun lasts longer there. When he returned home, he drove his giant day-laborer’s truck right onto it to make a point that I should not have put it there. We both pretended it was an accident, and I got him to pull out and I retrieved my rug.
Today, instead I pulled my car straight back into his space and laid the rug in my own space.
All day long, I kept a sharp eye out for the neighbor so I could move my car as soon as he got home. He finally pulled in, and I ran out within 10 seconds, waved a friendly wave, said “hi,” and started to get into my car to move it.
Cranky Man: “Get out of my space!”
Me: “Haha, hey how’s it going?”
Cranky Man: “I said, get out of my space!”
It then occurred to me he was not joking around. I walked over to his truck, up to his open window, started to explain and remind him of yesterday’s “magic carpet” story (when he drove over it), how my place got flooded, and that I was carefully looking out for him all day as the rug dried.
Cranky Man: “I don’t care, get out of my F@#$%ing space NOW!”
I was incredulous. “Wow… I am… sorry if you had a bad day at work today. I was just…”
Cranky Man: “Get out of my space. I don’t F@#$%ing care. You wanna go there? I’ll go there!” and he started to get out of his truck like he wanted to fight.
In that split second, I had a flashback of all the “David Carradine – Kung Fu” episodes I had digested in my youth… remembered something about trying to avoid violence at all cost… and I abruptly and silently turned and walked away. Shut off all conversation and just walked away. Got into my car. Pulled out of his space, and went back in my house.
For the next 10 minutes, I could hear him down the street, ranting and yelling in his house. “Bark bark bark f@#$ bark f@#$$king red carpet!! Bark bark f#$%k MY space!! Bark bark…”
I started to think about how unhappy he must be with his life… I was still a little rattled and was mulling over the near-fatal incident… thinking about how it could have gone further south with me ending up lying on my back in the parking lot…
The neighborhood was now silent again. I looked up, and standing there in my doorway was Cranky Man! He came all the way back. I wasn’t sure if he was going to finish the job, beat me up, tear into me again, yell some more…
Then… quietly… soft-spokenly… he spent the next five minutes apologizing, telling me how sorry he was. It was actually very touching… such a hardened, macho man… swallowing and eating his pride. We chatted for awhile, exchanged names and our histories of living in the neighborhood. He then held out his hand. We shook… and became friends.