That Old Stink-Eye
So we pulled into the Coddington Shopping Center, just a few minutes past noon, on our way back from the City, and the place was a zoo. Everybody and his mother’s uncle were there, and we had to go a huntin’ to find a parking place. Did I mention the place was jammed? Up and down the lot we went. As we got to the far end, we finally spotted an available slot, and pulled in, grateful that the search was over.
Lo and behold, as we parked, we noticed that one reason (or make that four reasons) that parking places were at a premium was that there was one of those oversized pick-up trucks, all tricked out, with giant tires and chromed everything, taking up not one, not two, but four parking places, the rig centered over all four at the same time.
“Will you look at that, Annie?” I asked. “If the guy who owns this truck comes out while you are in Wholefoods Market, I’m going to have a word with him.” How did I know it was a him? It’s a guy thing. You know what they say about compensating for small equipment, by driving a huge truck.
It didn’t take long before a weight-challenged bozo, wearing sunglasses and a monstrous pair of shorts, complete with grubby tee shirt, belly hanging out and all, came up to the truck, unlocked it, and got in.
“Hey!” I inquired, pleasantly, “Do you mind telling me why you needed to take up four parking places with your truck, on a day when it’s hard to find even one spot to park?”
“Huh?” he asked.
I repeated the question.
“Because I felt like it.” He looked at me belligerently.
I responded to that bit of sage thinking by saying, “I might even have understood it if you took up two spots, because you were worried someone might ding your door. But four? Isn’t that a little excessive?”
“What? You don’t like it?” He was giving me the stink-eye, and was I ever scared.
“I think it’s rude when the parking lot is so crowded.” I kind of figured what was coming next, and he did not disappoint.
“What? You going to do something about it?”
“I AM! I’m asking you why you feel it necessary to take up four parking places in a parking lot, when it is so crowded.” There, I told him off.
At this point he pulled the truck up next to me, fiddled in his CD container for a second, and put on Jon Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life” that took a couple of minutes to get to the punchline, all the while giving me that old stink-eye. The music was at full volume, and it was obvious that he was making a salient point, even though I don’t think Bon Jovi wrote the song with the intention that you should go through life being an asshole.
“It’s my life...it’s now or never...” the music blasted, as he edged his way out into the departure lane. I nodded my head to the beat of the drums, and gave him the two thumbs up.
I especially like this song myself, and sang along when it got to the lines, “I ain’t gonna be just a face in the crowd...You’re gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud.” I don’t think he got it.
Won’t he be surprised when he gets home and sees that some asshole older gentleman took a key, and ran it the entire length of the passenger side of that nice shiny truck? *
* OK, OK. The last line was wishful thinking. After all, I didn’t know whether more than one fat jerk would be leaving in the truck.