You know the ones: they take up more than one space in the parking lot not by accident but on PURPOSE, parking over the line so they have room to open fully the giant mutant driver's side door, extend the steps, and saunter down onto the asphalt with a look of self-righteous justification that says, "Well, I *do* have a big car, so I need the space. Not my fault if the spot's not big enough. What should I do, park waaay over THERE and have to WALK to the Wal-Mart just because I have the money to buy a big car? Or bully my way into a tiny spot and pin in those cars around me? Is that what you want me to do? Do you think that's fair? DO YOU?")
To borrow a phrase from my beloved Poops: what would be fair would be to kick that person in the vagina repeatedly and thoroughly, if it were a woman.
Its day is coming, oh yes indeedy.
Usually, though, it's not a female parking like a tse tse fly is feeding on her brain and disabling her sense of common courtesy. I don't hold with stereotypes much, but in this case...well, I point in the direction of the Grunt N Scratch Camp. There may people who are guilty of DLMTRMUT (Driving Like My Tits Render Me Unable to Think), but men...you guys park like a blind Highland cow trying to inseminate a fast-moving herd of females.
I once got boxed in in a parking lot in Otley, back in England. Devoted visitors to The Den may remember when I wrote a lengthy entry about it on my other blog. I parked my humble little Zafira in the pay-and-display lot, went in for my doctor's appointment, came out an hour later, and found the driver's side completely inaccessible. Some rich fuckwit had parked his ENORMOUS Range Rover smack dab next to my door, leaving about 6 inches of space. I could tell it was a top-of-the-line new car and had cost nearly 45,000 pounds--spotless leather interior, gleaming dashboards, virginal carpets, shiny chrome bumpers...the works.
(the space between the Douchebag Parker's driver's side and the next car...)
And the bastard had left his windows rolled down with a freshly iron shirt hung up in the back as if to say, "I am so confident of my station in life that you wouldn't DARE pour that PepsiOne down onto my rich Corinthian Leather seat."
Oh, how I longed for the days when I'd leave one of Max's fully loaded nappies shit side down on someone's windscreen, tucked neatly under the wipers, the price that Average Clueless Joe must pay when they make my driving and parking life that much more irritating by parking too closely to me.
(...and the space on the driver's side of mine)
On that day, however, I simply left a note. My doctor's appointment that day had been with my therapist, and we had been discussion how I need to tell people when they're pissing me off instead of stewing over it, waiting for them to figure it out. My epistle said the following:
If you can't read it, let me fill you in:
"Hey, asshole! Thanks for parking SO CLOSELY to my Zafira that I couldn't physically get in. Why don't you park your L45,000 petrol-guzzling kitted out SUV somewhere that DOESN'T require you to box in normal sized cars around you?
"When petrol hits L8.00/litre, I will laugh my arse off at dickless twonks like you who can't afford to fill up their stupidly large tanks.
"Piss off back to your own reality, shitwad. Have a nice day.
"The Zafira you boxed in"
Lesson learned. Demonstration of applied knowledge, the goal of every educator.
Later I came across another rejoinder to this situation which would've been much more to the point:
"I hope you don't fuck like you park. Otherwise, you'd never get it in!"
At any rate...bad parking (like bad fucking, actually) really, really gets on my nips, and very few things make me dance a jig of glee like seeing crappy parking, intentional or not, addressed by an officer. Which means I don't dance jigs that often because it seems that the incidents of Douchebag Parking far outweigh the prosecution of them.
see more That Will Buff Out
The reason I bring this up is because yesterday at the DM, I saw happening, right before my eyes, an example of DBP. I had gotten lucky enough to snag a front space in the shade and right near the door, the first in a row after three handicapped spots. It means I don't have to walk across the busy entrance with Bea, always a plus, and it rarely happens. I went in, did my shopping, came out, and as I did, I was nearly clipped by a BMW zipping happily along in search of a spot. When the driver saw there was one right near the front door, they reversed and backed into it, completely ignoring that it was indeed a Handicapped spot. Upon further inspection, I realised the driver felt justifed in this breech of the law because they had a large dog in the back of the car who obviously needed to sit in the shade, and the brevity of the shopping excursion made it all okay.
Had I been feeling more bitchy (and been without Bea) I would've done the Diaper On the Windscreen Thing. But I was actually quite appalled because if it's one thing Germans love, it's obeying a law. I'd never seen such a flagrant violation in Germany.
Actually, I take that back. I once saw a Euro Fun Boy totally get nailed by the Polizei for parking his 200,000Euro Porsche right over the yellow stripey lines with a smug grin. I happened to be sitting in the open front part of a coffee house at the Munich Stitch N Bitch, and we all watched with big smiles on our faces as Euro Boy confidently strutted from his car and into the Starbuck's where he lingered for about 15 minutes, flirting with the barista who quite cunningly kept him there just long enough for the Polizei to pull up, slap what I can only assume was an enormous ticket on his windscreen, this being downtown Munich and all, then speed away.
The irony of it all was that not 5 feet to the right was the entrance for a parking garage with very reasonable rates. It was a good night.
see more That Will Buff Out
Seriously, a woman would NEVER do this!
I don't know about you, but when I was studying for my driver's license test, parking was one of the things my dad had me practice over and over again, particularly parallel parking. I have never parallel parked as well as I did on that test day, but it did teach me the importance of staying in the lines. If I didn't, my dad stressed, then someone had a perfect right to open their car door right into the side of yours and wouldn't be at fault for any dings or damage. Persuasive reasoning, considering I didn't pay for my insurance at the time.
Bigger question: why didn't someone just get out and move that blasted trolley?
However, I do have hope. This morning I found a picture that made me pretty happy. Behold:
see more That Will Buff Out
Sure, you run the risk of having your bike squashed under the wheels of a Ford Caravan, but wouldn't you have loved to hear the words exchanged in the parking lot over THAT one??
Happy Weekending, my lovelies...
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