Rumble in the Car Park Jungle

Advice Cars Driving Road rage School run Sisterhood White Middle Class
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My chest feels tight

 

 

I’ve had it with Auckland people and car park rumbling.

Who knew that aside from a single bedroom apartment in Dannemora for $890,000, a car park could be such a precious piece of real estate?

Let me set the scene: it’s 2.40pm.  It’s school run time. How I love it!  I always look forward to lugging two tired, bedraggled preschoolers with me.  Just as I leave the house, someone needs the toilet or worse, I notice a large chocolate yoghurt stain embedded in a track pant; the shame of which is twofold:  that I let my children eat coloured, high-sugar dairy food products, and that once dried, it may as well be dried fecal matter because it has that strange dried fecal matter consistency and all who see it believe that it is fecal matter.

So anyway now, in this cool story, [stay with me, the rewards will blow your mind] I am about to do what is called a parallel park.  I have learned over time, that no matter what, taking a free, legitimate park in this country never comes without a bit of stink eye or revenge driving by nearby motorists.  I have seen our nation’s own mothers, voices of reason, smash the living bejesus out of the side of a car parked curbside, and even taking off a wing mirror, because of parking:

She made me slow down.  I had to slow down and wait for the bitch to park, and that enraged me.  Once she was parked, I dropped the hammer and smashed that silly fucking side mirror the fuck off her stupid car.

 

said Gentle Annie, the local nun.

I have seen it with my own eyes.

Any time you need to take some time to park, someone in this town gives you stink eye.  I got it.  Someone had to slow down and wait, and gather hatred at me for carefully waiting until the right moment to begin turning, and I got a hate stare.

It happened to me today, it happened to me yesterday; heck, it’ll probably happen to me shortly when I embark on my ‘grab the markdowns in the darkness’ supermarket run.

I’m back.  I got hatred.  This time, I indicated to go into a park, and it was one of those where if you plan ahead, you park in one that you can drive straight out of frontways, because no one took the one in front of your bonnet.  Well, the gentleman in the Nissan Cube didn’t anticipate someone else wanting that park, and that someone was me, minding my own business, just rolling into my park, filled with hope of getting some near-expired chocolate yoghurts for my kids to smear onto the front and back of their track pants.

I got car park stinkness.

The poor man had to reverse out of his park, instead of the wonderful Western convenience of just going frontways.

This world can deliver a really dud hand at times.   I hope the folks in West Africa are reading this, and weeping.

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