Clearly, we the residents of the Fairfax district know the unique hell that is finding a parking spot on the street in our neighborhood. Well, at least some of us do, as I am fortunate enough to have a driveway that can not only accommodate my car but those of visiting guests. But I certainly feel for the rest of you, forced to duke it out for the precious few spots available.
Most of the sections of curb on the streets between driveways are two cars long. Yesterday evening, the driver of a black Audi took it upon himself to park smack dab in the middle of a section, thereby eliminating any chance two cars could park there. I specifically say him in this case, as it appeared the driver's seat was far enough back from the steering wheel to indicate the driver was a man. And FAR be it from me to stereotype, but when one sees a poorly parked car whose driver's seat is in what must be its forward-most position, (essentially assuring whatever petite person behind the wheel would be instantly decapitated if the airbag was to deploy), one might be inclined to utter a "surprise, surprise." But for your average six foot tall male? There's no excuse for such a flagrant disrespect of neighborhood parking mores.
Clearly, all hell breaks lose when someone displays a lack of courtesy of this caliber. Not one, but TWO of my neighbors took a page from the Dear Crabby book, adamantly blasting this disrespectful individual with strident indictments:
AND
(My favorite part of this one is the "P.S. I pissed on your door handle." In my opinion, that's taking it a little too far, but I admire the author's alacrity.)
The the glove-compartment napkin admonishment, while undoubtedly raw and effective, I find a little cruel. Often they're scribbled in malicious haste, and later you're haunted by visions of remorse, that note you left on the poorly-parked Buick potentially telling cataract-riddled 87-year old Great-Aunt Evelyn to go fuck herself. Darling old Evelyn, while she might've parked like Helen Keller, doesn't deserve that kind of bullcrap at this advanced stage of her life. That's why I prefer the official-looking citation put out by my personal heroes at youparklikeanasshole.com; this gets the point across, cuts down on regrets (such as pissing on a door handle), and also allows one to, much like a Citizens Arrest, to essentially issue a Citizens Parking Ticket:
It gets tiresome being the self-appointed enforcer, quixotically meting and doling unto a savage race time after time, and in this case it was a pleasure to see someone else throwing themselves on the asshole grenade. I was able to stand by and merely chuckle, my car safely ensconced in my driveway, above the riff-raff jockeying for the precious few parking spaces on the street; my crabbiness reservoir remaining blessedly full for next time the dam is released - it can't be long from now anyway. In the meantime be compassionate in your Citizens Parking Citations, and think twice before leaving a nasty note for poor Great-Aunt Evelyn, even if she can't park for shit.
Best regards,
Dear Crabby
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