Obviously, there are some things in this life that are capable of inducing a fury in me that is devoid of rational thought. The Yankees are one of them.
Another trigger, perhaps even worse than the Yankees, would be when someone parks in my reserved parking spot.
This morning, as I’m pulling into work (so I’m not exactly in a great mood to begin with), I rounded the corner in the garage to my usual level, only to find a piece of shit 1992 Lexus sedan with a “W” sticker on the back window parked in my spot.
So I park 4 spaces down (taking up another person’s assigned spot), and set off to find the security guard who, by the way, is never where he’s supposed to be.
I eventually find him and explain there’s an unauthorized car parked in my territory. He shakes his head, “is it space #100?”
“Why, yes…yes it is.”
“I stopped that lady this morning on her way in, and she told me that she’d lost her parking pass.”
“Well that may be true. But I can assure you that isn’t her spot.”
“Okay, I’ll solve this right now.”
“Great. And please don’t ticket the red Jeep that’s parked in spot #96. That’s me.”
“Okay. No problem. Thanks.”
So, to you Little Miss Lexus that works the PowerPoint projector at RE/MAX, stop being so fucking solipsistic and get your own damn parking spot.
j.s.[[edit: I just heard that the security guard ticketed her, then waited an hour before busting in on her Realtor presentation and ordering her to move her car or he was going to have it towed. She apparently gave him a tirade of obscenities, then stormed out to the garage to move it. Perhaps it’s petty of me, but I love it when a plan comes together…]]