Parking

On someone else's dime

I guess I pulled into the parking space a little crooked in the small parking lot. Did I block someone from taking the adjoining space.

Maybe. I hope not.

After a happy hour of hitting tennis balls with a friend, I returned to my car and found this greeting.

What surprised me most, apart from feeling sorry if I did in fact keep someone from parking, was that I felt neither defensive, nor angry at what, by any measure, is rude, antisocial behavior.

I considered what must have gone on for the person who stuck the card on my window.

Maybe he considered it funny. Which, in some ways, it was. A bit of a stretch to use “tools” for different meanings. Though it’s been a long time, it’s not the only time I’ve been called a tool.

Yes, it’s an insult. Insults tell more about the insulter than than insultee.

The calm that came over me was fed by meditating on the note bearer.

He must carry those cards around, hoping to find cars parked over the lines . So he may have been happy that I gave him a chance to actually spend one.

Is the card a measure of his stance toward the world? Is he (I’m betting it’s a man) spring-loaded, always on alert for a grievance? Ready to take on anyone who “crosses” his territorial line?

Or is he a happy practical joker? Who has a stack of cards, worded differently, ready for the slightest misstep?

As you can read, he made my day.

And Lacey might well agree with him, that I don’t know how to fucking park.