This post originally appeared on Medium
Thoughts on parking etiquette from an utter douchebag.
Fellow Driver,
I know I took up two parking spaces leaving you circling the lot like a Perrigine Falcon whose prey has mysteriously escaped.
I know you’re probably cursing my name and wishing it was legal to ram my Hummer H2 with the “Take Back America—Tea Party 2012” bumper sticker, but you won’t. I’m counting on it.
Why? Because unlike myself, you possess manners—a social skill I am blissfully unaware of.
You see, I am what is referred to in the vernacular as a douchebag and that moniker comes with responsibility and a certain sense of entitlement.
It comes with a sense of knowing. Not in the educational sense—I cheated to become a Phoenix. What I mean is knowing your place in the Universe. And mine is parking a big-ass Hummer wherever I damn well please.
In my world, a Hummer equates to respect. It means I have power that compensates for my hopelessly commonplace 4.75″schlong. It makes up for my premature hair-loss and my inability to converse with other humans without needing something to prove. It means the when I attempt to demean coworkers who are taller than me, they know I mean business. It means people know me.
No one knows your name at the local Hooters, do they? I bet they don’t even know you at the Faggot, I mean, Target store where you get those baskets full of dried grapevines rolled into balls. Just what the Hell are those damn things for? You don’t play with them. It’s not like they’re art like the Nagel prints in my hallway. You must own a cat.
Not me. I have a GD Rottweiler. I’m not even sure if I can spell Rottweiler, but that’s the beauty of it. The German language is scary and gets respect. German dogs? Twice as scary. Twice the respect. I know. I see lesser mortals giving me a wide berth when I do donuts on the cul-de-sac of a quiet, rich suburb with my beast in tow.
What’s that? Why do I need to take up two spaces when my Hummer will clearly fit in one? You’re stupider than you look. Taking up one parking space means you won’t notice me. And I have to stand out. I’m 4″ shorter than most fourteen year-old girls and twice as awkward.
I work as an engineer designing windshield wipers. Sexy. We’re the bottom feeders as far as engineers go. Had I actually studied, I might have a career with actual respect, like a powertrain engineer or aerodynamics.
But no, it’s wipers and that means I have a lot of pent-up anger issues and a life of mediocrity.
And you have the gall to ask why I need two parking spaces.
