This is directed to a number of you who do not seem to have grasped the basics of blending courtesy with parking lots. I am sorry to be so cross with you, but, really, something needs to be said to you. I suppose I have little choice but to be the one. It pains me, truly it does.
You. The young lady who shoots out of one driving aisle into a cross driving aisle. In particular, the cross aisle down which I happen to be driving:
As you pull your vehicle halfway out into the traffic, look to the left!. Caveat: if in one of those backward nations that insist on driving on the incorrect side of the road, such as the UK, obvii you'd look to the right.
I would dearly love to not have to maneuver wildly to avoid you, although I do get a small guilty bit of pleasure from the sudden expression of terror on your face when you eventually do look in the proper direction in time to see me narrowly missing your engine block.
Thank you for your kind attention.
Now, as for you ... no, dear. Not you. Him. Yes sir. I am speaking to you:
I totally get that your self image is a bit puny -- I have so been there. I understand that you derive great satisfaction from your massive, glinting, three-quarter ton extended King Kab pick-up truck with the pristine bed that has never, not once, hauled even so much as the family pet and those tires one ordinarily sees on the Caterpillar 797. I also get your critical need for the 20 lb, foot long trailer hitch -- it's so very shiny -- that has never had anything actually hitched to it! I wish you all the ego boost that you crave.
But, please. When you park your leviathan in our work parking lot? Do not pull it all the way back! Other people would like to be able to park behind you, see. In the parking spot your hitch is now occupying.
Here's an alternative. Just an idea. Park in the furthest spot out where no one else parks. You'll benefit your truck (no door dings, hey!) and yourself (toned calves and heart-health, yay!), and you can take over three spots, if it pleases you!
Thanks, dearies. Again, I am so sorry to have to have been so stern, but, really. It's for your own good.
gekko: darned good walkies companion.
I drive across parking aisles, even though it's illegal, but I look carefully all over the place. I pretty much have a 3D map of the entire region locked in before I send my liable self across the lines. This bimbo you're talking to is why it's illegal. As for the huge trucks, GOOD GOD! They're great if they really get used. Hauling horse trailers, whatever. But how many times have I whipped into a space only to slam on the brakes, thankful I have the depth perception to see that huge glistening phallus symbol ready to initiate me in the dubious pleasures of radiator sex? I'm sorry, sir, but I'm just not ready for that. Bad enough walking behind one of those fucking things and getting my shins cracked.
I ran across one a' those giganto-trucks in the WalMart parking lot a couple of weeks ago. The young stud and a bunch of his friends were standing outside of it impressing the local teenage girls. I stood and stared until I had his attention, then told him I wished *I* had one, but since I never would, I'd never figure out how it worked. He asked what I meant. I said "Well, does driving this thing actually give you a hard on?" I asked, rapping the high-polish chrome bumper with my knuckles, "Or is this pretty much it?"
Unrelated: Why do strangers keep calling me an asshole?
- AD -
Someone's been studying the AARP Style Manual for Writers.