"All Boxed In, No Way To Escape"

Okay, as I might have mentioned, one of the perks of the apartment we're living in is that the folks who own the garage connected to Wendy and Tim's garage doesn't use it, and we rent it from those people and I get to use it. This is fabulous, as it means I don't have to worry about my car getting broken into or being exposed to the elements all the time and whatnot.

The garage has a short driveway in front of it, as garages often do. This is great, because it means that if a friend comes over, they can just park right behind my car (Wendy parks her truck behind one of Tim's cars in their driveway; his other car--both are Camaros--is parked in a spot in the row of parking spots right across from our garage). Technically, no one who doesn't have one of the little parking tags hanging from their rearview mirror is allowed to park in the parking spots, but that rule isn't enforced in the garages or the driveways.

Sadly, this means that sometimes I'm going to have to deal with assholes I don't know parking behind me. That is currently the case. Usually, this wouldn't be a problem--I'd just get a ride from Wendy or Tim to go to the store and grab some food. But they're both currently still in Oklahoma, I don't know who is parked behind me, I don't know how long they're gonna be there, and if they're still there in the morning (when I have to go to work), I'm smashing their windshield in with a hammer and leaving a sternly-worded note on their driver's seat asking them not to park their damn minivan in a spot that prohibits others from actually being able to get out.

~chuck

Song of the Moment: Nirvana, "Heart-Shaped Box"