Count to ten... then pull the trigger.
There was a cavalcade of assholes in the parking garage this morning.
Parking, like driving in general, is a social exercise, so it constantly amazes me how fucking self-absorbed people become when behind a wheel. I think perhaps the act of looking out at the rest of us through windows enables them to psychologically distance themselves. Car ads somewhat encourage this mentality, promoting vehicles based on their ability to isolate you from the sounds and stress of the outside world. Meanwhile, that aloof attitude fosters greater stress for us all because the viral effect of random acts of automotive stupidity is such that negativity and irrationality multiplies with each subsequent interaction.
Then he pisses off two people... and they piss off two people...
This morning was nothing big, just typical. The act of parking your vehicle in the half-empty third floor of my workplace garage should be a relatively simple one. Enter assholes number one and two - a pair of coworkers who may or may not have commuted into work together. Regardless of how they arrived or their relationship to each other, they seemed determined to have a conversation just in front of the first empty parking space. Enter asshole number three - the gentleman who drives a fifty-foot, eight-ton SUV through the wilds of the DC metropolitan area because you never know when you are going to need Hemi Power to navigate the apocalyptic hazards on your way to Barnes and Noble. This jackass, of course, cannot pull into a parking spot on his first pass, particularly when two other assholes are standing in the path of the outlandishly wide arc he would need to end up somewhat straight. So, he sat with his truck in reverse, waiting to back-up and readjust. Enter asshole number four - the schmuck who, for whatever reason, insists on taking the first parking space available, no matter how inconvenient it is at the moment, because driving fifteen feet to the contiguous line of thirty empty spots would require an admission of defeat. He, of course, wanted the space that assholes number one and two were blocking with their gabfest.
Enter me, the perfect driver (if not in practice, then in intent). I had a relatively stress-free morning commute, ignoring some moron's highly erratic last minute indecision and sudden stop in the middle of the road just outside our security gate. I was even running earlier than usual, which is to say still late enough to attract attention but not late enough to give cause for termination. All I wanted was to pull into any one of the three dozen open spots within view, but my path to inner peace was blocked (like that of asshole number three) by asshole number four as he idled waiting for assholes number one and two to clear a path to the nearest parking spot.
Maybe I am a tad high-strung (it is certainly true that I did not get enough sleep last night) but those felt like the most excruciating ten seconds of my life.
And I once had a hypodermic needle shoved into the glans of my cock.
Parking, like driving in general, is a social exercise, so it constantly amazes me how fucking self-absorbed people become when behind a wheel. I think perhaps the act of looking out at the rest of us through windows enables them to psychologically distance themselves. Car ads somewhat encourage this mentality, promoting vehicles based on their ability to isolate you from the sounds and stress of the outside world. Meanwhile, that aloof attitude fosters greater stress for us all because the viral effect of random acts of automotive stupidity is such that negativity and irrationality multiplies with each subsequent interaction.
Then he pisses off two people... and they piss off two people...
This morning was nothing big, just typical. The act of parking your vehicle in the half-empty third floor of my workplace garage should be a relatively simple one. Enter assholes number one and two - a pair of coworkers who may or may not have commuted into work together. Regardless of how they arrived or their relationship to each other, they seemed determined to have a conversation just in front of the first empty parking space. Enter asshole number three - the gentleman who drives a fifty-foot, eight-ton SUV through the wilds of the DC metropolitan area because you never know when you are going to need Hemi Power to navigate the apocalyptic hazards on your way to Barnes and Noble. This jackass, of course, cannot pull into a parking spot on his first pass, particularly when two other assholes are standing in the path of the outlandishly wide arc he would need to end up somewhat straight. So, he sat with his truck in reverse, waiting to back-up and readjust. Enter asshole number four - the schmuck who, for whatever reason, insists on taking the first parking space available, no matter how inconvenient it is at the moment, because driving fifteen feet to the contiguous line of thirty empty spots would require an admission of defeat. He, of course, wanted the space that assholes number one and two were blocking with their gabfest.
Enter me, the perfect driver (if not in practice, then in intent). I had a relatively stress-free morning commute, ignoring some moron's highly erratic last minute indecision and sudden stop in the middle of the road just outside our security gate. I was even running earlier than usual, which is to say still late enough to attract attention but not late enough to give cause for termination. All I wanted was to pull into any one of the three dozen open spots within view, but my path to inner peace was blocked (like that of asshole number three) by asshole number four as he idled waiting for assholes number one and two to clear a path to the nearest parking spot.
Maybe I am a tad high-strung (it is certainly true that I did not get enough sleep last night) but those felt like the most excruciating ten seconds of my life.
And I once had a hypodermic needle shoved into the glans of my cock.