Road Rage
The parking problem is a pandemic in my area. People who live here will undoubtedly strike out the previous sentence in the defense that it is a gross understatement. Coming home from the cat shelter today reminded me of the pact that I made with myself - the one that states that I shall never, ever drive a car.
All the parking spaces seemed to be occupied at first glance, and my father's mouth turned into a frown. My mother was craning her neck around, frantically trying to find us a place to park. When she happened to see one, the transformation in my parents was stupendous - my dad's dull eyes found a spark, one that had been extinguished earlier with the thought of hunting for a space, and a broad grin found its way onto his face. The effect was scarily similar on my mother's face. However, there was just one problem - our 4WD was too large to fit through the tiny gap, conveniently formed by some double-parking asshole.
"I'll get out and guide you in," my mother offered.
"No, I'll be fine," my dad replied, confident about his (scary) driving abilities. My mother sighed.
"I'll get out."
"No, we're fine," he said, starting to maneuver the car. It looked like an incredibly tight squeeze, and my mother began to panic. My brother, oblivious to the tension, had his earphones in his ears, and was listening to some band or the other. The car managed to get in halfway, but the rear end was dangerously close to a Toyota pick-up.
"Careful, careful!" my mother snapped. "It's okay! We'll get through," my father reassures us.
In the end, his skills got us through, but not before we cursed the errant double-parking driver who had obstructed the way for us. Stupid things like this make you wonder how people actually live with all the stress day after day for things like whether you'll get a place to park when you get back from office, or whether you're going to get your pink slip today, or whether the insurance company will pay for your dentist's bills.
There's a raging sandstorm outside my window right now - it's so bad that my room is now bathed in khaki-coloured light. I can barely see the building next to mine. Meh.
All the parking spaces seemed to be occupied at first glance, and my father's mouth turned into a frown. My mother was craning her neck around, frantically trying to find us a place to park. When she happened to see one, the transformation in my parents was stupendous - my dad's dull eyes found a spark, one that had been extinguished earlier with the thought of hunting for a space, and a broad grin found its way onto his face. The effect was scarily similar on my mother's face. However, there was just one problem - our 4WD was too large to fit through the tiny gap, conveniently formed by some double-parking asshole.
"I'll get out and guide you in," my mother offered.
"No, I'll be fine," my dad replied, confident about his (scary) driving abilities. My mother sighed.
"I'll get out."
"No, we're fine," he said, starting to maneuver the car. It looked like an incredibly tight squeeze, and my mother began to panic. My brother, oblivious to the tension, had his earphones in his ears, and was listening to some band or the other. The car managed to get in halfway, but the rear end was dangerously close to a Toyota pick-up.
"Careful, careful!" my mother snapped. "It's okay! We'll get through," my father reassures us.
In the end, his skills got us through, but not before we cursed the errant double-parking driver who had obstructed the way for us. Stupid things like this make you wonder how people actually live with all the stress day after day for things like whether you'll get a place to park when you get back from office, or whether you're going to get your pink slip today, or whether the insurance company will pay for your dentist's bills.
There's a raging sandstorm outside my window right now - it's so bad that my room is now bathed in khaki-coloured light. I can barely see the building next to mine. Meh.