I know, I know I promised a picture a week. I promised pithy reflections on my shifting bi-Coastal life. I promised to write. And well, I didn'tand so here we are. With the first blog post in (how shall I put this?)in way too long.
I know you likely forgot about me and my promises and so who really cares at this point, right?
Wrong. Because I have something to say.
So! Let me just preface this whole story by telling you that even though I’m back (for now) in not-as-crazy-as-New-York-in-just-about-all respects - Seattle, finding parking, especially close to my door, is not easy. I live in a busy area where that commodity is scarce. So when I come home and luck out on a spot, I'm a happy girl. I tell you this so you'll keep it in mind as I relate to you the woes of my day.
Alright. So, I come home today and find a spot close to my door, and that makes me feel good because today I'll have to unload (I’m being honest here) my laptop, my purse, two iPhones (long story), other random items from my car along with some garbage in the way of an empty single tall vanilla latte cup, a can of shaving cream . . . and....
Point is, I found a great parking spot. But as I pull in, some guy starts yelling at me:
He: "YOU CAN'T PARK HERE!"
<<I roll down my window.>>
He: "You can't park here!"<<rude, snotty, almost-yelling tone>>
Me: "What are you talking about? It's a public parking spot."
He: "Yeah, I know. I just moved my truck from here."
Me: "Huh? Your truck isn't here. I'm parking here."
He: <<even more rudely, now times ten>> "NO! You can't park here. We're moving these stones."
Me: "What? What are you talking about? It's a public parking space. You aren't..."
He: <<interrupting, ‘cause he's rude and terrible>> MOVE!! YOU CAN'T PARK HERE. I LIVE RIGHT HERE."
Me: "Yeah, well I live right here, too, and this is a public spot."
<<some kind of additional rudeness ensues>>
Me: "You know, you don't have to yell at me If you were just nice in the first place, I wouldn't be fighting back, but you're an ass."
<<I then give up and go find another spot . . . but I'm pretty mad.>>
As I walked the almost full block from the new parking spot to my apartment, I was angry at myself for giving up. That guy was a jerk and if he had just kindly asked me not to park there, I would have had no problem and simply driven on. But no! He had to be some loud jerk and make me move. And then, of course, I had to replay the scenario over and over again in my head -- and change the ending to me winning the fight and the parking spot. The whole thing rolled around in my brain like a pinball for likely way too long.
Eventually, though, I forgot about it.
Until . . .
I get home late tonight, glance at the same spot – which now is empty -- and see a tape measure and metal box haphazardly left right there in the middle of the former battleground. So I occupy the spot and pick up the metal box, and inside is a picture of the very same Mr. Rude, his car registration, detailed drawings of a construction site and various other notes and phone numbers.
Now I’m feeling a little powerful: after being yelled at by this jerk, I'm suddenly in a position to help him out. I can leave his stuff in the rain to get ruined or stolen or I can be a nice person and track him down and make sure he gets his stuff back.
So what should I do?
I know what the RIGHT thing to do is, but I'm so tired of doing the RIGHT thing. What would happen if I did the WRONG thing? What would happen if I just left the stuff right outside where I found it to get soaked in the deluge that’s in our forecast?
I'm sure you know what I did. I tracked the jerk down and he came and picked up his crap this afternoon. But I was ALMOST a bad guy, and I kinda liked it; so no promises next time.