Parking is a Bitch

It’s too dark to take a decent picture so here it is, prompt number twelve: You have just swallowed your pride and done something you didn’t want to do. Your friend wants to know why. The two of you are driving around an almost-full parking garage looking for a space for the friend’s oversize pickup. Write the scene. “There’s one,” I say, pointing at a space at the end of the row. “That’s handicapped parking,” she replies as she drives right by the space. “Well, this truck’s pretty much handicapped,” I mumbled. “What?” “In case you haven’t noticed, it won’t fit anywhere. If physically challenged is the determining factor for being able to park in the handicap zone, you’ve pretty much managed that one.” I was getting sick of this truck, sick of driving up and down the rows of cars, the rows of full parking spots built only for tiny hybrids. They should have had a sign that said, “Toy Cars Only, all Full Sized Vehicles Are Shit Out of Luck. Stop Destroying the Environment,” at the entrance to the garage to ward off people like us. “Wow, you’re pissy today,” she snaps. “I wouldn’t be if you drove a normal human vehicle, not one for five hundred pound rednecks! We’ve been trying to park for half an hour already.” She turns the corner, starts going down another row. A row I’m pretty sure we’ve already been down. Yes, […]

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