To the man or woman or alien who parked beside me at the mall today: I have decided not to invite you to my next party. I am impressed, however, that you were able to get your little crapbox wedged up so close to my driver’s door I couldn’t even squeeze my body between the two vehicles (having downed too many chocolate bars and sodas) let alone open my door to get into my car and drive away.
I haven’t been able to squeeze into a space that small since I was ten years old.
I waited and waited for you to return because I wanted to address the situation with you but you were off being selfish somewhere else and I finally had to do something. I opened my passenger door and reclined both front seats as far back as they would go. Then I slithered my expansive frame across the seats, my muddy boots leaving slime across my dashboard and windshield in the process. The boots got stuck somewhere along about then and I began to wonder, if this experiment didn’t work, whether or not I would be able to extricate myself from the car at all or if this might be a job for the fire department and the jaws of life.
Finally, somehow, I got my feet on the driver’s side floor and my ass in the seat, started the car, and delicately pulled away, noticing, as I did, that the passenger side of your car was all banged in as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. If I had had a sledgehammer with me, you might have had a few more notches on your tin belt.
Now I am not a forensic anything and can barely spell forensic, but my forensic inspection of the beat-up side of your little tin box leads me to believe that this is not the first time you have jammed someone in and some of those other drivers, once in their cars, have slammed their doors against yours as a kind of thank you gesture.
I have one question for you. Have you thought of trading in your jalopy for a bicycle? You can park those suckers anywhere.
Have a nice day.
©2019 Jim Hagarty
