IT NEVER ENDS…. When people get behind the wheel, 92% of their brains refuse to get in the car with them.
So, I’m waiting—waiting what feels like an eternity—for this prime parking spot. I’m watching this person tediously load groceries in the back of their car, one bag at a time, like they contain highly explosive material. Naturally they leave the empty cart right next to the car beside them.
They finally get in their car, and now it’s like everything is foreign. Here’s the ignition, here’s the headlight and turn signals, here’s the windshield wipers. Let me adjust the seat again, because you never know when these little fairies sneak into your car and mess with the seat position and mirrors while you’re shopping! Sunglasses! Gotta put those on!
Now they’re making a call? WTF! What are they doing? refinancing their mortgage? Let’s pull out already!
Finally they start backing out. And just as I’m about to claim my rightful place—this other guy, this Johnny-come-lately, rounds the corner, throws on his blinker like it’s some kind of magic parking wand, and suddenly he thinks he has dibs!
No, no, no! That’s not how this works! I was here first! The person waiting always has the right of way! This isn’t a game of “who blinks first”—it’s first come, first park you sneaky bastard! It’s mine!
And what’s worse? This is probably the only time this guy has ever used his turn signal! Oh, now he knows how it works! The same guy who changes lanes like he’s playing Mario Kart suddenly thinks the blinker is a binding legal document? GTFO with your blinker crap!
And now we’re locked in this awkward standoff—me, sitting there, gripping the wheel like a hostage negotiator, and him, looking at me like, “Well, I put my blinker on.” Oh, congratulations! You also breathed today! Doesn’t mean you get my spot!
I’m inching closer. He’s shaking his head and wagging his finger as he moves closer. Suddenly it dawns on us both that whichever way grandpa backs out will determine who sneaks into this prime parking space at the last second. One of us is going to lose, unless we decide to trade paint over this.
But you know who the real winner is? Grandpa. He’s driving off, sipping his coffee, completely oblivious to the parking war he just left behind.
Do we really need to pick a number and wait, like at the deli counter????
Make it stop!!! This madness has to stop!
