Let's turn the clock back to July 2008. George W. is still in office, gas prices are over three dollars a gallon, Miley Cyrus and The Jonas Brothers are tearing up the Billboard charts, and my leg hair is showing promising signs of growing back in again after I waxed it all off in a drunken haze in Vegas. Alex and I have just moved into our new apartment. There is no reserved parking in our lot, it's all open. Naturally, either Alex or I often end up parking next to the people who live above us. They drive a big, ugly, rusted-out hooptie. Despite the fact that they've probably been driving this thing since Michael Jackson was still allowed to have sleepovers at Neverland Ranch, they still have absolutely no idea how to park it. Now I'm not normally a betting man, but every time I peek out the window and look at their car, I would bet my bottom dollar that they are hanging over into the adjacent spot a little bit.
At this point, it was nothing more than a minor annoyance. We'd have to park a little bit crooked in our spot, so we could get out of our car without sucking in our gut worse than Hasselhoff on every Baywatch episode ever. On many different occasions, I considered saying something to the neighbors, but ultimately decided against it. It was one of those little things in life I could live with. Besides, we had just moved in; I didn't need to make enemies with the people who could make our lives a living hell if they so desired (since they lived directly above us.)
Fast forward to New Years' Day, 7:45 a.m. As I approach my car, I stop and do a double-take. When I came home the night before, the parking spots on either side of me were both empty. But that had changed overnight. Ohhhh had it changed. The neighbor's pile of shit was wayyyyy over into my spot. It was so crooked that it was technically BEHIND MY CAR. If I would've backed up 8 inches straight out of my current spot, I would've hit his car. Miraculously, there were no scratch marks on my back bumper. You could give me 100 chances, and I wouldn't be able to pull off this parking job without hitting the other car.
So now I'm livid. Strike 1 is that it's New Year's Day, so I'm slightly cranky that I'm heading into work while 90% of the country is sleeping off a glorious hangover (granted, I was getting a three-day weekend out of the deal, but one tends to look at the negatives at a time like this.) Strike 2 is that this douchebasket has been parking like this for months, and I haven't said anything to him which may have prevented this. Remember the scene at the end of Seven, right after Brad Pitt finds out that Kevin Spacey killed his wife and put her head in a box, and he spends the next minute or so pacing back and forth and making strange faces as he debates internally whether or not to shoot Spacey on the spot? That's what I looked like, as I debated whether or not to vandalize the shit out of this monstrosity of a vehicle that was currently blocking me in.
"Your car is behind me? Fucking BEHIND ME?!?!?!?"
Right about then, the dude who lives a couple buildings over comes strolling out of the laundry room nearby, notices me, notices my situation, chuckles and says "That sucks, man." Bingo. Strike 3. While I was able to restrain myself from giving the hooptie a nice booting (mostly because now there was a witness) I did unleash the power of the pencil. I went inside and started writing a note. It began "Hey. It would be awesome if you knew how to park your car...." Then I blacked out for a couple minutes, and I finished by writing "FIGURE IT OUT" in big letters at the bottom.
I'll be honest, I went off a litte bit in the note. There was a comment about Driver's Ed being easily affordable these days, and there was a joke that went something like "The Reagan Administration called, they said it was OK to buy a car that's been manufactured since they were in office." I didn't really hold back; 6 months of this guy taking up 1 1/3 parking spots had finally gotten to me. I neatly folded and placed the note on his windshield, successfully executed an Austin Powers-style 23-point turn in order to get out of my spot, and went on my merry way to work. I never received a return note, the guy never stopped downstairs to bitch at me, nothing. I braced myself for fireworks the next time we passed each other outside (which happened roughly a week later) but there was nothing, not even a glance.
Which brings us to the present day. More specifically, this morning. As I come out to my car, I find a folded-up piece of paper on my windshield. I unfold it, and it contains just one word, in a big, aggressive-looking font: Asshole.
I giggled to myself, and took note of the fact that the neighbor's car was right next to mine again. Why he waited over a month to give me such an obviously well-thought-out, one-word note is beyond me. When I stopped at home during lunch, lo and behold, he was outside. I passed him on the sidewalk and waited for him to say something. He only gave me a quick glance, said nothing, then immediately hopped into his car and took off, while I stopped, turned around and watched him, and tried to look tough. Well, as tough as a 185 pound white kid who has thrown 3/4 of a punch in his entire life can look.
And so my question for you: who is the real asshole here? I'll accept it if the consensus is that it's me; but I don't feel that a harshly-worded retaliatory note (but I didn't use any profanity) is worse than ignorantly taking up multiple parking spots for months on end. Maybe that's just me.
Oh and when you make your decision, please no excuses about how it's difficult to park a large vehicle. The first time I ever sat down behind the wheel of a car, it was my parents' old station wagon, and then once I had my permit, the car I regularly drove around was an old Lincoln. I never took up multiple parking spots, and I was 14 years old. So that's not a valid excuse in my book.
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