How to Deal with Asshole Parkers

So after driving the Future into work today, I decided, what the hell, I might as well go get some work done. As I’m circling the parking lot looking for a spot, I see a faint glimmer of hope shining through the morning fog. A spot is open, but some D-bag has decided to park his Audi A8, an $80,000 land yacht, about three inches over the line on the right side of my spot.

That’s my spot he’s invading!!! You’re gonna die clown!!!

So I did what any self-respecting and humble blogger would do. I went for it. I was thinking it would be like that early episode of the Simpsons where Homer tries to park in the small car spot and he winds up scraping the side panels all to hell while trying to shoe-horn his station wagon in between two SUV’s, then gets everyone to escape through the windows and rear hatch. There was a few extra inches on the left side of the stall so I figured regardless I’d be able to park, but I’m in a very special kind of mood today. The kind of mood where I would be more than willing to street-fight the parking lot guy for ticketing me for not “clearly” displaying my parking pass, because in the middle of my dashboard isn’t quite clear enough for him!!! The kind of mood where if someone were to ask me “Can I ask you a stupid question?” I would have no choice but to kick them straight in the face and tell them to read a book while in the hospital. The kind of mood where I have absolutely no problem blocking in an Audi driver who thinks because they spent 4 times as much on a car that it automatically entitles them to have two spots in the parking lot. I bet he even has a private health care doctor so he doesn’t have to wait in emergency rooms with the rest of the “common folk” while he gets his prostate checked for the third time this year after he’s decided to start to “Double Down” at KFC and polish off a bottle of pinot each night before conking out next to his Botox-infused wife who he doesn’t love but he doesn’t want to divorce because it would cost too much. Jerk.

So I pull into the spot trying as best I can to be as close as possible to his car as mechanically possible. I even got out, walked to the other side of the car, checked how much room there was, got back in, and maneuvered even closer to his car. I even parked a bit back from the concrete block in the front so that our side view mirrors wouldn’t hit, leaving him with about 3 inches between our vehicles. What would he do? I was within the painted lines of my stall. He’d better have been a gymnast in his past life because he’s going to have to ride that stick shift like a pommel horse to get into his driver seat. Best part of all? He didn’t even have a parking pass displayed. He’s gonna have a pretty rough day when he finds his car boxed in, a parking ticket on his windshield, and his wife doing their pool boy on his favorite chair in the “media room.”

So having successfully found a spot, served come-up-ins in an epic proportion, and survived driving in Edmonton’s zombie fog, I am ready to start the day. What’s this? My 10am client just canceled?? Time to work out. Could this day be any better!?!?!