I guess guilt was his downfall

Here in NZ, 'boy racers' are those young, disrespectful punks that have loud engines and leave tire marks on the road at all hours of the day or night--mostly, night.

And, in just about every neighborhood, there is one house that has one boy racer associated with it. Ours is no different. That house is the one that has cars parked all over the yard garden with little kids' toys strewn about.

Most of the time there is no problems between neighbors, but on weekends, there is an extra car that shows up and, upon its departure, drives around the block with its loud muffler, spinning tires and being annoying in the wee hours of the morning. I just put up with being awakened now and then, thinking there wasn't much to be done.


I had an idea.

I figured anything was worth a shot, so I went with it. I would let them think I was taking pictures of this particular car and then let them assume whatever they liked about what would happen with said pictures.

So, the next weekend, I waited until I heard a noisy car stop at 'that' house and then I stood on the porch front sun room and pointed my camera their way and let the flash go off several times, making sure they saw it as they 'worked' on the engine. Then I waited until the car drove past my house and made sure the flash went off a few more times as they went by.

The pictures were quite blurry and certainly didn't show any distinguishing details, but they apparently did the trick.

I haven't heard that loud car at any wee hours since. I guess guilt on their part worked to my definite advantage.


joy said...

You are a very wise lady:))).

southseaislandhome said...

Haha! Love it.

Marja said...

good on ya. We live close to a street which is popular with boy racers. You even find cars in the ditch who went off the road.
The last year it isn't that bad anymore. Fingers crossed

Laurie Collett said...

A clever and effective plan! Great story!
God bless,

Sarah said...

Hehe what a great idea! :)

Anonymous said...

What a smart cookie you are!

We have apartment buildings behind our house and there is a motorcyclist who has lived back there for quite a few years. He must fancy himself an Indy 500 driver, because his motorcycle sounds like an Indy car racing on the track when he's zipping down the road behind us. No hour of the day is sacred.