Dear Parking Lot Guy: I Will Remember Your Face for All of My Days. Watch Your Back.

Okay, so I have the super-duper-mad rants today. Like, there is so much madness in my blood right now that it is liable to jump around so hard that all of a sudden it will get sick of staying inside me and use its monster teeth to rip through my veins and then squirt out and get all over YOUR FACE. So WATCH OUT.

Just kidding. I love you all. I am really just mad at this little punk ass bitch who ruined my morning.  

Let me set the scene for you: It is pouring rain. I am five minutes late for work. There is not a parking space in sight across the HUGE campus parking lot. Then ... that looks like a spot! A spot! I race over, only to find ...

I kid you not. A truck taking up FOUR SPACES because the person who owns it is SO IMPORTANT that they must keep away from the rabble around them. At this point, I was already seething. Really? REALLY?!?! You think this is acceptable behavior, truck guy? You think it is okay to STEAL three parking spaces from people who need them just because you have some sort of compensation thing going on with you and your big red truck?

I was sitting there thinking about how much I wanted to punch this person and trying to remember if there were surveillance cameras that would catch me keying this assbutt's car when, all of a sudden, I realized that the guy was SITTING IN HIS CAR. Yeah. Just hanging out and enjoying the weather. Watching us lowly peasants look for spots that didn't exist because of HIM.

So I did what anyone with a rage problem would do. I motioned for him to move. Repeatedly.  Like, many many times. He stared me right in the eyes and otherwise ignored my pleas.  So I stared at him. Staring contest, bitch. I was ready to go. My hand starting creeping toward my cell phone where I had campus security on speed dial. My heart was racing. I was screaming on the inside.

Then, just when I thought about getting out and tapping sweetly on his window, my baby gave me a rousing kick in the belly to remind me that all of my angry-lady hormones were washing over its innocent brain. 

Damn. You win this time, selfish-rude-bastard-man. I am hurting my baby over you, and now that I have realized that, I must back down. Oh, how I wish I hadn't backed down.

And now the baby is kicking me again to remind me that reliving the moment is sending bad vibes down to the baby-storing area. Crap. I was a bad mom twice in one day and the little sucker isn't even born yet. Might as well stop off for some fast food on the way home while I'm at it.

So, is there a moral to this story? Probably not. But, I do have one wish for you, my dear readers: May your rage-filled moments never be interrupted by a fetus.  

THE END