You Won’t Like Me When I’m Angry

It’s not often that I get so angry I am driven to blog about it, but online media seemed to be the only way my annoyance might somehow find it’s way to the nasty little she-troll that is the source of my rage. 

Dear Impatient Parker,

You are rude. 

First off, when the sign says 10 minute parking, I reserve the right to use the full 10 minutes if I deem necessary.  I get it. You were eager to pick up your delicious Islands dinner from curbside to go too, but you could have just as easily pulled into any one of the other three open spots, reserved for take out eaters like ourselves.  Instead you sat, blocking traffic with your blinker on for at least 5 minutes.  Giving me the “hurry up” stare down.

Look lady, they hadn’t even brought out my food yet and like I said, there are other spots open, just a few feet away.  The distance shouldn’t even matter to you since you are not even going to have to get out of your car. 

After the kid did bring out my dinner and return my credit card, I had the audacity to find a new Taylor Swift song, research for the blog post I was going to write today, and you honk your horn, not one, not two, but three times. 

Seriously lady?

I know the burgers and island fries are delicious, but you probably could have had your order by now if you would have pulled into any one of those other vacant spots. 

I left my window down as I pulled out of the spot and used the opportunity to say, “Excuse me, but that was unnecessary.”  To which you replied,  “Eff off bitch”, but you used the full four-letter word. 

SERIOUSLY?!

What had I done to elicit such a response? I deserve the F-bomb because you want my parking place?  I was stunned.  Sad even.  This lady must really have a hard life to get so worked up over a parking spot. 

You wasted no time, nearly taking out my rear bumper as you zoomed into the space. But wait, why are you getting out of the car and going inside?  You are not even using curbside to go?  It took everything I had to not stop the car and tell you what a nasty little troll you really are.  You waited all that time, honked and cursed, just to save yourself a few extra steps from the parking lot?  You aren’t even picking up food?!  You’re a wretched C word (that I won’t type out all the way because my mom reads my blog).  I hope you enjoy your burger and I hope you choke on it.

Sincerely,

Ashley

Sorry about that guys, but sometimes you just need to tell off the rude person in the parking lot and pray that one day she reads it and says, “You’re right Ashley, I am a wretched cunt!” (sorry mom.)