
Yesterday I had to go to the shops to pick up some stuff for a story I had to write this weekend. I didn’t want to go. It was raining and I knew it would be busy. As I approached the shops the sign said there were 8 vacant car spots in the whole car park. That’s not many. At all.
I sighed. Took a deep breath and went on my way. I drove around and around and around until I spotted a girl walking from the gym to her car. That car spot was mine. I put on my blinker and waited. She took her time, had a drink, changed clothes and fussed about. I waited, patiently. Finally she started the engine and drove out of her car spot. I edged forward to give her room to get out. While I did that A LADY STOLE MY CAR SPOT.
I was furious. I honked my horn. She kept driving in. I got out of my car and approached hers.
“What are you doing? That’s my car spot!” I quizzed her.
“I didn’t see you,” she replied.
“Well, I’ve been waiting for that girl to drive off and I’ve been waiting a while with my blinker on. It’s my spot.”
“I’ve been driving around for a long time. I have no patience left. I need the spot.”
“No. That’s my spot. I waited. It’s my spot. You need to move.”
“No,” she said, “I need to park here.”
I pulled out the mum card. I told her I had my daughter in the car {the truth} and that she was crying {not the truth} and that I wanted my car spot back {the truth}.
“No,” she snapped.
“You’re moving your car,” I finally demanded and went back to my car.
At the point I was near tears. How could someone be so rude? A man had stopped to watch the spectator sport of car parking. “You OK?” he asked.
“She stole my spot,” I said running my hands through my hair, full to the brim with frustration.
I could tell that he wanted to help, but was undecided on whether to get involved or move on. He neared her car, shook his head at her and walked on.
She didn’t move her car. She got out. Came over and reminded me ever-so-kindly that, “I need this spot. I’m tired of driving around.” And she walked away.
I had no choice but to circle over and over again and find another spot. I was filled with crankiness. That’s probably an understatement. I was mad. Furious. Over a parking spot. Over a woman with no manners. I may have flipped her the bird behind her back. Mature? Yep.
I parked. Called my husband and complained. And then I called my sister and did the same. And then I took it to the Twitter.
And … I’m really ready to move. Surely country folk don’t fight over parking spots, do they?
What would you have done? Driven off and let it go? Or tried to make your point?





























