The Battery Is Giving Him The Finger

, , , , , , | Friendly | August 27, 2019

I was sitting in the parking lot at my local superstore waiting for my friend when I felt the entire car rock. I looked over to see a man loading groceries into the car beside me. He had opened his door far enough and with enough force that he shook my car. I looked at him for a moment before shaking my head and returning to my phone.

Then, there was a knock on my passenger window. I looked up to see the man peering in at me. He grinned and gave me the middle finger before getting in his car.

I’m a small woman and as such I generally avoid confrontation, but I was angry. I got out of my car to inspect the damage and saw that, aside from a small scratch I couldn’t prove he’d made, the door was fine. The man saw me get out and quickly locked his door and put his keys in the ignition. 

Click click. He stared at his steering wheel, confused. Click click. Again. Click click. He pounded on the steering wheel. Click click. Click click. Click click.

I must have looked crazy, standing in that parking lot laughing as hard as I was. His battery was dead! He sat there for another half-hour in 85-degree weather before he got it started.

I would have helped him jump his car even after he hit mine, had he not acted like such an a** about it. In the end, I didn’t have to do anything; karma did my dirty work for me!

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Her Argument Rings Hollow

, , , , | Friendly | August 13, 2019

(I have parked in a disabled space. I get out and head to the store. There is a woman having a cigarette who notices me and practically sprints to me.)

Woman: “You self-entitled prick!”

Me: *taken aback*

Woman: “It’s people like you who make life unbearable for the rest of us.”

Me: “You mean the disabled space? I’m–”

Woman: “–a self-entitled a***hole who wants to make disabled people like me, who can barely walk, suffer!”

(I sigh, lift my leg, and knock hard against my right shin. It sounds hollow. The woman recoils at the noise in disgust.)

Me: “I’m an amputee.”

(Normally, this is enough to end the situation, but in this instance, the woman continued to look disgusted until she started shaking and collapsed on the floor. I panicked, thinking she had fainted. I tried to check her pulse before trying to run to the store for help. I heard movement behind me and saw the woman getting up and running to her car. I stopped and stared at her as she fumbled to unlock the door. She noticed and flipped me off before getting in and driving away.)

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Unable To Disable Nana’s Thinking

, , , , , | Related | July 18, 2019

(I’m disabled. I have a disability permit that is displayed in my car for parking, but I’ve had car issues so that’s at the garage. My nana has given me a lift to do the food shop. She stops to park in a disability spot.)

Me: “Oh, Nana, we can’t park here.”

Nana: *sweet nana voice* “But you’re disabled.”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t have my permit with me to display.”

Nana: *confused nana voice* “But you’re disabled?”

Me: “But Nana, this spot is for blue badge holders only, and I don’t have my blue badge.”

(Nana considers this, and then pulls into the spot.)

Me: “Nana! You’ll get a fine!”

Nana: *angry Nana voice* “But you’re disabled!”

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Parents Versus The Oldies

, , , , , , , | Friendly | July 5, 2019

(The shopping centre nearest my home is really family friendly with free play spaces, breastfeeding rooms, food heating facilities, etc. However, for some reason, out of 1000 parking spaces, there are only four parent and child spaces. These spaces are wider than normal spaces to allow for parents to get car seats in and out. They’re also only a courtesy so, while it’s rude, anyone can park there. It’s nearly impossible to get a parent and child space as a result, but one day I’m lucky enough to get parked there. After I’ve finished shopping, I’m getting my five-month-old baby settled back in the car when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a car waiting on the space. They’re blocking the whole car park by waiting where they are, but I still have to secure my baby and fold the buggy before I can drive away. After a minute, the car drives off, but I notice the driver circles the car park and returns to wait again. As I’m about to get in my car, I notice the driver is a woman in her 60s and there’s clearly no one else in the car. Annoyed, I approach her car.)

Me: “Hi. Are you waiting on my space?”

Driver: “Yep.”

Me: “Okay, but you know this is parent and child parking, right? You don’t have a child with you.”

Driver: “I know, but I’m old and can’t walk far. I need to park near the door.”

Me: “If you go around by entrance A, they actually have age-friendly parking for people like you.”

Driver: “I tried to park there and all the spaces are taken.”

Me: “Well, that doesn’t mean you should park in a parent and child space. A parent with a child needs the space way more than you do. I’m sure if you drive around you can find a space close to the door.”

Driver: “I’m still going to park here, though.”

Me: “Umm, no, you’re not. There are only four spaces for parents, and I’m not going to let you park here.”

Driver: “What are you going to do about it?”

Me: “I’m going to unpack the car and continue shopping until you’re long gone.”

(With that, I turned and started unpacking the buggy again. The woman huffed and screeched off. A woman walking into the shopping centre with her two kids saw the exchange and laughingly thanked me. I asked her where she was parked and she pointed to a space nearby where her husband was getting ready to unload their buggy for their baby who was still in the car. I told her to tell her husband to bring the car over and he could have my space when I drove out. As I was driving out, the original woman tried to cut in and steal the space from the family, but thankfully, they got in first.)

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Boredom Kills

, , , , , , , | Working | July 3, 2019

An older pickup truck was left at the far end of our parking lot for repair. Apparently, it would not start. I am bored, so I grab the keys and go out to see if I can start it. Why it was left so far away, I have no idea. I don’t plan on being out for long, so I don’t bother to put on my coat. Minus 20C? That’s nothing… So, I get in and close the door. I slide the key into the ignition and turn it, nothing.

I give it a couple of seconds and try it again. Still nothing. Not a sound. No whirring, no clicking, not even one measly little click. I give up after trying a couple of more times. Only mildly disappointed, I reach for the door handle. The handle flops down as soon as I touch it, broken. No big deal. I reach for the passenger door and pull on that handle. That, too, falls down.

Uh-oh… I look down for the window crank. Missing? I look over at the passenger door window crank. That’s missing, too. You’ve got to be kidding!

The rear passenger window will never move. It has been fixed firmly in place since the day the truck was built. Nope, no sliding hatch at the rear window, either. And to top it off, I didn’t bring my phone. Cut off from the entire world, in a parking lot, at work.

Now what? I am at the far end of the parking lot – a good 100 meters away from the store entrance. It is -20, and I am locked in with no coat. The truck is facing away from the store so frantic waving won’t do much good. The windows are starting to fog up and I am starting to feel the cold. If someone even bothers to look from the store into the parking lot and see the back of the truck, they will not see my head. And with this old, worn-out bench seat, I can hardly see over the steering wheel, the curse of being 5’3”. No one will see me from the back or the front. On my left is a long strip mall, but a huge mountain of snow is in the way. I’m pretty much isolated.

I wonder how long it will take for someone to realize that I have not returned, and then how long after that before they start to look for me — if they even try. Hours? Days? Weeks? I start writing my last will and testament in my head — a lot of good that will do.

Finally, I see someone driving towards a store over the right side of the hood of the truck. [Nearby Store] is open! The gentleman gets out of his car and walks towards the store. He’s only about 50 meters away. I have a bright idea: honk the horn. That will get his attention, and of course he will come over and open the door for me. I push on the horn… Silence. I push it harder. Still nothing. I pound on the horn. Not even a fart. Whoever said silence was golden got it so wrong!

Maybe, just maybe, I have been locked up so long that I have gone deaf, or my ear drums are frozen, or this old rust bucket has extremely good sound proofing. The horn has to work. I look over to see if he reacts to my frantic pushing on the horn. Nope, no reaction. Apparently, the horn doesn’t work; either that or this truck is equipped with an ultra-high-frequency horn that only dogs can hear. Either way, I’m screwed.

Resigned to my fate, I come up with an idea for those that eventually find me. I will make a scratch in the door for every day that I survive in the truck. At least they will know how many days I survived in the wilderness, a mere fifty meters over the right fender from [Nearby Store]. The doors are so scratched up already, they probably wouldn’t even notice my survival scratches. When it rains…

I sit there for a few more minutes. It’s probably my imagination, but the air seems to be getting stale. Locked in a dilapidated old pickup truck. Who cares about being embarrassed? I just want out!

Something catches my left eye, beside and behind my left shoulder. No way! Duct tape? I look over my left shoulder, with a near perfect shoulder check, and find a thick plastic sheet duct taped over where the back seat side window used to be! YES! Why didn’t I notice that before?

I may not be able to blow bubbles with bubble gum or swim more than four feet at a time, and I don’t weigh enough to operate a skid steer, but I can proudly say that I can tear my way through a plastic bag. Oh, yeah! Woot… Woot…

It takes a while, but the plastic was really, really thick, okay?!

I squeeze through the slit I made in the plastic window — thankfully, I weigh less than 130 pounds — and drop to the ground head first. It is not the prettiest of exits, but no one knows I am here, anyway. Who cares? I am free!

I dust some of the snow off my clothes, feel a slight bump on my forehead, no blood. Good!

I feel like I just broke out of prison. I am sure the guilt about ruining a perfectly good plastic-n-duct tape window will diminish soon… Yup, gone already, no guilt left at all. Suhweeeet! And I was still clocked in, too! Nice!

I race back to the shop at least a half hour after I left. Whose bright idea was that, anyway?

I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I am bored, I am going to stay put and just close my eyes. I am never again going to underestimate the value of being bored.

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