Tuesday, May 26, 2009

To ID jerk, look left.

I wish there were a way to put a sign on your car that says "I am not the dumbass that messed up the parking situation. I am a victim, just like you."

Situation:  The parking lot where I park has VERY small spots. Not very small for my camry, but very small if, say, you drive a Land Rover. Or an Expedition. Which, strangely, are common. 

Complication: The owners of said boats are not usually inclined to make even a passing effort at fitting in the spot. They aren't "on the line" or "2 inches over the line." They are a full foot and a half askew. 

My Resolution:  Fit my car wherever it fits. Today, for example, it was between two such boats, who had collectively eaten away at 2 parking spots. So it looks like I was the jerk that took 1.5 spots - which I wasn't. I am just the one who decided that someone should park between those jerks. 

But somehow, I feel like I look like the jerk. And I want a sign that says "yes, I fit in a small spot - but this was already broken when I got here."

Of course, I also want that sign when I enter a really messy toilet, and then leave it, not having contributed to the mess. I want to say "it was like that before I went in!"  I'm comfortable not being part of the solution, as long as it is clear that I'm not part of the problem.

1 comment:

Capt. BS said...

I believe the standard operating procedure for this situation when in happens in Boston can be summarized via the following anecdote:

Years ago, on a sunny spring weekend, I paid a visit to the Burlington Mall, which is your typical suburban mall that sits atop a solid square mile of concrete. Since people like to shop for things, especially on weekends, the parking lot was jammed, even at its extremities. As I patrolled the aisles in search of a space, I saw an empty spot that was suspiciously close to the mall entrance. Indeed, it was the space second-closest to the main entrance to Sears. Except there was a problem. Namely, the vehicle in the first-closest space -- which happened to be a fuck-you-red Chevy Tahoe -- was straddling the line such that its mass was split evenly between the two spaces. For no excusable reason whatsoever.

Thankfully, this bold and blatant affront to Darwinian principles did not go unnoticed nor unpunished. After parking considerably farther away and passing by the Tahoe on my way to Sears, I noticed fresh key marks on the driver's side door, as well as Dunkin Donuts napkin under the windshield wiper sporting some simple, angry words scrawled in black ink: "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!"