How To Let Something Small Ruin Your Day
I was in the wrong here. I admit it. But calling me an “a-hole?“ That’s a bit excessive, no? (Those who were offended by my FB Moms/Hippies articles need not respond.) Especially considering that we’re more than likely going to run into each other sooner or later...
See that to the right?
I found it on my windshield this morning.
If it’s too small for you to make out, allow me transcribe:
“THANKS FOR PARKING SO CLOSE… NEXT TIME LEAVE A F***ING CAN OPENER SO I CAN GET MY CAR OUT… A**HOLES LIKE YOU SHOULD TAKE THE BUS”
That’s all. No salutation, no complimentary close or signature. The most affable part of the note is a sketch of Mickey Mouse flipping me the bird.
I know who left it too. After all, we have assigned parking spots at my apartment complex. And my car was admittedly parked a little close to a neighboring white pickup.
See?
I was in the wrong here. I admit it. But calling me an “a-hole?“ That’s a bit excessive, no? (Those who were offended by my FB Moms/Hippies articles need not respond.) Especially considering that we’re more than likely going to run into each other sooner or later.
What happens then? Am I supposed to confront this person – say thanks for the note in some antagonistic tone? Do I pretend I have a daughter – act like she found the note and was horrified by Mickey’s vulgar hand gesture?
The “America is #1” plate on the front of the truck definitely has me worried about one thing – that the note was left by a veteran. I don’t believe in picking fights with soldiers, mostly out of respect (but also because I am naturally afraid of anyone who is trained to kill).
Another concern: that this individual may in fact be a redneck. It’s a well-documented fact that rednecks don’t quit (see Deliverance, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Wrong Turn and the forthcoming Straw Dogs). The next thing you know, “Dueling Banjos” is echoing off the garage walls as I discover my tires have been slashed.
No, that’s no good.
Still, I feel like I should say something. Fact is, they implied that I should take the bus. THE BUS. Ridiculous. Buses are for people who’ve given up on their dreams. And I have not given up on my dreams, good sir… Or madam, I suppose.
Shoot, what if it’s a woman? Picking fights with ladies is frowned-upon. Particularly if it boils over into physical conflict. I could end up embarrassed… incarcerated… perhaps both. And as I mentioned above, I have no desire to be complimented on my “purty mouth,” you know what I’m sayin’?
This will not end well. 
