And so it came to pass. The friends decided they should limit their action to just one of Melissa’s corners. Rose put in the work order and although the city crew of three didn’t see any obvious problem with the hurdle they removed, they also didn’t wonder that the order specified use of the taller model for replacement. They performed their tasks and left.

Melissa wasn’t there to witness the first scraping incident, but she later understood it didn’t happen to too many cars before word got around. Nineteen citizens signed the complaint, and nine of them had had to pay for chassis work.

How could she or Rose have known about the ordinance? Berkeley has as many laws as Macy’s has items; no one has the energy to view them all (Melissa knows a lot about Macy’s and other department stores; she’s the daughter of a shopaholic mother still active and driving at 83; all her life Melissa has been coerced to stride those halls). It turns out that it was okay to install the taller hurdle, but not to omit the sign warning the drivers about the change in height in the equipment the driver wasn’t supposed to drive over anyway.

The work order was examined. Rose was interrogated. Melissa advised her to come clean; their little escapade wasn’t worth sacrifices. But once the complainers knew two city employees were involved, conspiracy was added to the accusations.

The situation tipped almost to viral. Both Melissa and Rose were suspended with pay. Each was summoned to the hearing.

Melissa awoke that morning tense. She hadn’t slept well, and her mood didn’t improve when she discovered that her favorite blouse, the one she intended to wear for luck during this dread morning, had lost a sleeve button. An unusual irreplaceable button. It was a loss that could only be accommodated if she changed the button arrangement on both sleeves, which she didn’t have time for then, so she’d have to wear another.

But the capper came when Melissa made the third worst mess in her life. She always shook the coffee grounds from the filter cone into the tall garbage can in her kitchen, before she left her place. This time her lower back tweaked just as she was dumping the grounds. The pain caused her to jerk slightly, removing her foot from the pedal and allowing the garbage can lid to begin its noiseless descent. At least a third of the wet coffee grounds made it into the garbage can. The rest hit the can top, the walls, and the screened windows like wet beach sand.

It was dreadful. Impossible. Laughable. And laughing is what Melissa did.

After it was all over, both lost their jobs. The barriers stayed up and the hurdles stayed low. But nobody died. Kim returned from Germany a wiser and nicer daughter. Rose volunteered in a community dance program, and that led in a surprisingly short time to a low-paying but permanent position. Melissa is still looking. She lives inexpensively, and she will inherit a fair amount from her mother. She and Kim may open a shop.