I’m not admitting guilt here, but I may or may not have accidentally backed into a car this one time in college. And then driven away, shaking and screaming “WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I DO?”
So, hypothetically – had this actually happened, I’d assume (and accept) that bad parking karma would follow me around for the rest of my life.
Exhibit A: A coworker backed into my car at the office. I had to get the bumper replaced.
Not even a month later, Mike notices a mystery scratch on the newly replaced bumper. I know I didn’t run in to anything, so that means someone hit me in a parking lot or something and didn’t leave a note. OH well. Had that one coming.
Exhibit B: I backed in to Mike’s Durango while trying to get out of the driveway. His Durango was unharmed. My trunk doesn’t look like it’s closed anymore and my tire housing is all sorts of fugly.
Sure. It was my own fault, but seriously? I have a back-up camera for Dog’s sake.
And now, I’m being haunted by inconsiderate parkers…
I shouldn’t have parked there, especially since their crookedness forced me to park crooked. It’s one thing for you to suck at parking, but when I suck at parking by default…that’s just not okay. DAMMIT if I can save myself an extra 10 feet of walking, I’m going to!
This was just ridiculous. I literally had to climb in through my passenger side door to get to my seat. For some reason, I decided NOT to yank open my door and dent his discourteous paint job. What made me the most angry was that he had parked mere SECONDS before I got back to my car. I saw him get out of his SUV, turn around to check his parking job, SHRUG, and then go into the store. At the point where he turned around to shrug (who the hell shrugs anymore…), he clearly saw me stop at my car and make the “are you effing kidding me” face at him.
I was enraged, y’all. The little old lady in the Camry (sitting there all grey-haired and ghost-like) didn’t know what to think. I started scurrying around like an ant that had just happened upon some bread crumbs. I threw my Christmas loot into the trunk and tore through my car, looking for something to write him a note on. Nay, a NASTYGRAM.
Once I found something that at least resembled paper (although the used McDonald’s napkin probably would have sufficed), I wrote:
IF I HAVE TO CLIMB IN MY PASSENGER SIDE DOOR TO GET TO MY SEAT, YOU’VE PARKED TOO CLOSE TO MY CAR. IT’S RUDE. MERRY CHRISTMAS.” In hindsight, I should have added at least one curse word. Or even a bad name. Like JERKFACE. Or POO-HEAD, just drive home my point. I stuck it in his windshield wiper, ignored the scathing glances from Grandma Toyota, and CLIMBED into my car – SEETHING.
If you’re going to drive a tank to Wal-Mart, at least have a teeny tiny grasp on how to park in between the lines. I just can’t believe I was cursed with TWO bad-parking Fords within a matter of days.
So, lesson learned. If you ever hypothetically back in to a car in a lot on campus, be kind enough to leave your information. Unless of course you don’t mind spending your lifetime dealing with stupid crap like this.