It’s Saturday and I’m headed to a one-time class in a city I rarely visit. I notice the on-street coin-operated parking meters have all been removed and instead there is a large computer kiosk halfway down the block with “METER” posted above it.

I park my car and head over to the kiosk to figure out how to pay, but there are lots of different options, including screens for if you have an app, if you’re a resident of the city, if you’re an on-the-clock public servant for the city, etc. The screen keeps timing out as I try to find the correct options. 

A woman walking down the street gets closer to me and I say good morning and ask if she knows how to work the machine.

She walks me through the process of selecting that I’m a visitor, paying by credit card, what my license plate number is, and that I’ll be paying for two hours of parking.

As the machine spits out my receipt, I thank the woman for helping and she starts to continue on her way. When she’s about half a street away from me she turns and calls out to me, “Hey!” I look up. “By the way, street parking is free on the weekends.” She then smiles broadly, turns on her heel, and continues on her way.

For various reasons, I prefer to park in the back of parking lots, even when it’s not very crowded. One day, after leaving the grocery store, I got into my car, turned on the AC, and took a moment to check my phone. A minute later, I heard honking and looked up to see a pissed-off woman gesticulating at me and mouthing, “MOVE!”

So, I shrugged, put the phone down, pulled out, and drove off past dozens of empty spots closer to the store while the lady took my old spot. Some people aren’t happy unless they’re unhappy, I guess.

(For many years, I am a boundary umpire for a local football — i.e. Australian Rules — league. As anyone who follows sport knows, fans like to make their opinions known to the umpires and referees. One of the more memorable exchanges happens as I am coming off the field after a close-fought game that ended with the home side losing.)

Fan: “I just want to say what a good job you did out there today…”

Me: “Thank you.”

Fan: “…because it’s obvious that the league told you to make sure that [Team] lost! And you did a d*** good job!”

(My mother can definitely be described as cheeky, but she does have her heart in the right place, and she hates bullying and strong people picking on the weak. This happens in her late teens, in the early 80s. My mother sits on a bus, close to an older woman with her leg in a cast. A younger boy — around three or four years old — and his mother step onto the bus and take the seats opposite the older women. The young boy starts kicking his legs, each kick lands on the cast of the older women.)

Old Woman: “Dear, could you please stop doing that? Do you see this cast? I fell and hurt my foot, so when you kick the cast, it hurts.”

(The little boy ignores the woman and keeps kicking.)

Old Woman: *turns to the mother* “Excuse me. Can you make your child stop kicking my cast?”

Boy’s Mother: *turns her nose in the air* “Absolutely not! I believe in a free upbringing.”

(My mother’s blood starts to boil at this point. As the bus is closing in on her stop, she gets up from her seat and taps on the shoulder of the boy’s mother. She looks up, and my mother spits her right in the face.)

My Mother: “I could not help myself… I was raised with a free upbringing.”

(And before anyone had time to react, she got off of the bus.)

(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.)