Thursday, April 10, 2014

First World Problems

Today, I drove 3 hours to just north of Santa Barbara to take 'before' photos of an apartment building for some of my clients. Three hours there, half hour for photos, and three hours back. It wasn't a hard day by any means but it was a lot of driving. At least I got to drive down the beach through Santa Barbara. I broke it up a little bit by stopping by the outlet stores on the way back to look for some sensible shoes. Yes, I've hit the age where sensible shoes are necessary.

After trying on countless shoes, I found nothing I liked. So, I was a little bummed. Mama needs some good shoes. Then I got home too late to get any reasonable parking. Add the 6 hours of driving to countless trips around the neighborhood looking for parking and not finding any shoes...and it's enough to break a girl!

Parking is always a problem around here. The later you get here, the worse it is. Mario is constantly parking a few blocks away. This is great for exercise, but after working a full day, it sucks. Tonight I drove around the neighborhood three times. Fourth time around, I spotted a prime spot right across the street from our apartment. I shot across the street, pulled into the drive and am backing into the spot...when some jackass pulls in the spot and blocks me! I was sitting there in shock.

I'm still in reverse backing up and he shimmy's in, gets out and mimes "sorry, no more space for you". Total jerk. I gave him a nice hand gesture and looped around the block for a fifth time. Parked my car. Ran inside our apartment and proceeded to write this guy a note.

I told him "way to be a gentleman and steal my spot! I think we all know how awful the parking is and your move was complete crap. Get some manners because, you sir, are a jerk!" I kept it mostly nice because I didn't want this guy trashing my car. Then I put the note on his windshield and  Mario and I went out to dinner.

The little date did make me feel better. We had a nice time, good food, and then came my same note left on our doorstep. What does this mean! There was no response on it. He just gave it back. Is this a "I know where you live" or "I choose to ignore you"? The least he could have done was say sorry or at the very least tell me to piss off...but no, the shithead just returned my note. My head exploded.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Talk to me...

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.