A short while ago, a colleague who only decided to start speaking to me in sentences longer than 10 words about two months ago, informed me that she’s parked in front of me in our basement garage. I blogged about the trials experienced in parking management a while ago, so will not repeat myself, but feel free to look here if you’re interested.
Anyway, the manner in which this woman determined that it was me she parked behind was grating, bearing in mind we’ve been parking in the same lot for over a year, and there are only about 14 of us who drive at my workplace:
Quiet Colleague: (Q.C): Do you drive a big, white car?
Me: *picturing massive stretch limo covering entire parking lot*: I drive a white Opel Astra.
Q.C *looks a bit confused*…um, well are you parked next to A?
Q.C: Then I’m parked behind you.
Me: Marvelous, how splendid of you to do so! (not really)
Now, I understand that many, many cars look very similar. I’ve always thought the old Audi TT looks remarkably like a grown up VW Beetle. It’s not really necessary to know the intricate differences between brands, unless you are a car salesmen/car journo, or are seeking a vehicle with good enough suspension to accommodate an eve at the drive-in. But if you’re going to park someone in, perhaps it’s prudent to take a few notes on the said car so that one can warn the impeded driver of her predicament: look at the big, shiny badge on the back of the car next to the big, shiny letters which spell out the car’s name. Or perhaps even jot down the number plate- or just remember the first three letters?
This woman, and the two conversations I had this morning with a furniture place and the people responsible for stealing from me each month (the lot who collects my complex’s levies) respectively, have ensured that this Tuesday is passing at the speed of snail. Misery Index rating of 7.