Parked On That Decision, Part 3

I work as a cart pusher/lot attendant. I’m halfway through a nine-hour shift on a slammed Sunday. I haven’t had my break yet, the Missouri sun is doing its best to melt me into the pavement, and I’ve already had to tell four lazy shoppers they can’t park in the fire lane because… it’s the fire lane?

After the fourth time, I’m pretty pissed, as the fire lane is directly in front of the dip in the sidewalk’s edge to roll the carts into the bay. Every time I have to ask a customer to move their car, I have a line of carts fourteen deep trailing behind me like a giant “HIT ME!” hazard for the stupid.

When the fifth car pulls into the fire lane, directly cutting off my line of carts, I’ve had it.

I park the carts safely, march to the car window, politely knock, and inform the woman at the wheel that her entitled butt and the vehicle it’s sitting in need to move out of the designated fire lane (though a touch more customer service-y).

The woman is amicable at first and informs me that she won’t be long; she’s just waiting for her husband to finish the weekly shopping inside and she’ll move the vehicle as soon as he’s back. I inform her that while that’s all well and good, she’s parked in the fire lane, which is both hazardous and illegal.

This well-to-do woman looks positively miffed at me and glares for a full ten seconds before she demands, “WELL, WHERE THE H*** AM I SUPPOSED TO PARK, THEN?”

I wordlessly turn behind me and gesture to the five-acre parking lot before she rolls her eyes and moves her vehicle.

Related:
Parked On That Decision, Part 2
Parked On That Decision