I get it now. I completely understand how my sister was driven to smear the fecal matter of my dog all over the car of a stranger. Up in all the door handles, across the windshield. Hell, yes.
Up until now, I simply thought, “That’s crazy Lea.” Followed by some remark including the words, “Unhinged” and “Anger Management.” No longer.
There I was patiently waiting for a parking spot after circling a tightly packed strip of stores for a good five minutes. Five minutes is actually a decent amount of time to circle. No worries. Finally, found my spot. My blinker is on. I’ve given the person who’s pulling out enough room to reverse. And holy ball-joy, some four-door sedan whips around the corner, sees me, then pulls into the spot. With the exit to my left, I had hesitated taking the spot, for the briefest of moments, because I thought the sedan wanted to exit.
No, what he wanted was to exit this world. I was going to kill him.
As soon as he began to turn into the spot, I’d pressed my horn like nobody’s business. And now, I was so ready to go Kathy Bates on him. You motherfcuker. Who purposefully just wheels + steals like that?
Benefit, meet doubt. Maybe he didn’t realize I was waiting. I quickly pull into the Handicap spot beside his car, and jump out of the car.
“Ah, excuse me. Maybe you were completely unaware, and didn’t realize it, but I’ve been waiting for this spot for a while now.”
“Up yours, lady.” He was out of his car now. Mid-twenties, short spiked hair with too much gel, and a severe case of acne. Adult acne. Bad.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I was waiting for that spot–“
“I had the right of way, bitch, and look at you! Look where you’re parked!” He motioned with his hand to the Handicap icon. Obviously, I only intended to be in the spot to deal with the situation at hand. As fast as that, I was about to lose him. He was walking away. I wanted to punch my fist through his window, key his car, ram the shit out of his piece of shit grandpa car. But what happened next is something I’m still trying to process.
You know how you can imagine how you’d react in any situation, but until you’re in the situation, you really have no idea? Know how people say that our character is tested, and it’s how we respond when the shit comes down, when we’re between a rock and a hard place, that we really expose what we’re made of? I’m so surprised at myself. I don’t know if it’s disappointment, but it’s shock.
There was nothing I could do, other than let it go. In no particular order, I thought:
Key to car
Call the police
Follow him into the store and tell everyone inside what he’d done.
I wasn’t about to convince him of anything. He wasn’t moving. I didn’t have a gun or Linus’s hot steamy slightly-wet bowel movement. I wasn’t about to break the law, or just wait, stand behind his car, and when he wanted to pull out eventually, refuse to move, locking him in (though damn, that might have at least been something). Instead, the lowest part of me came out. A part of me I haven’t seen in years. Really, years (remarking that the Wasband’s penis was made of Kibble & Bits was just plain fact reporting).
“Just get over it, you bitch!” He screamed, his hand on the door handle of a video store.
“Karma’s a bigger bitch than I am, pizza face!”
And with that, the door closed behind him. I got back into my car and sat with that. Did I really just say “pizza face?” What is wrong with me? Why would I do that? Ever? Me, once upon a Moose. I know how hurtful that kind of thing is, and how juvenile. What am I, twelve?
I’d run out of hurt and went for the lowest hanging fruit, wanting him to be as upset as he’d just made me. But really, I just ended up being upset with myself for not being the bigger person I thought I was. Then again, I also once stole a cab from old people in the rain when I was late for work, so maybe this was my Karma.