{prelude: One Thanksgiving Emily, Jessie, and I were making chocolate turkeys when Emily looks over at me and says derisively, "You're putting too much frosting on, stupid." Now that term is part of our vernacular. It's one of the most inside of inside jokes. When I use this, I'm not being as abrasive as I sound.}
Josh and I pay for our reserved parking space in the complex. It's right outside the building and should be open whenever we're not there. Because, you know, we pay for it. It's ours.
Sunday night a black sedan was parked in our spot.
Monday night the car was still there. I would have left a note on the offending vehicle but had a 1-percent uncertainty that the carport really was ours. I called the management office yesterday morning to double-check, and I was right.
Then last night a different car was parked in my spot. I was livid.
I left a note on the windshield tersely explaining that this parking spot is reserved and that I couldn't park there tonight because of the offending vehicle. I asked them to move the car ASAP and that if it happened again I would call a tow truck.
What I really wanted to write, though, was, "Find your own parking place, stupid."
5 comments:
You tell 'em! Haha, those kinds of things make me livid as well!
That would have been hilarious, though most likely misunderstood.
SO irritating! Perhaps you could bedazzle some orange parking cones to reserve your spot.
Hee. I can totally hear your voice saying that, too.
Hope you've resolved that infuriating problem!
There are a number of Philadelphians who live in the row houses of the city who could give you some tips! I've seen folding chairs, BBQs, red velvet ropes (or the likes!)...sometimes you just have to wonder! Definitely, try the row of folding chairs put in place whenever you leave!
Good luck. Reports, please!
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