I'm going the wrong way in the parking lot. Yes, I know the arrows are pointing toward the store and I am driving away from it. It is only a few car lengths...there it is. A behemoth of an SUV wants my vacated space, and he wants to enter it coming from the right direction. Curses. He won't back up, and I can't. I hate to back up, which is why I pulled all the way through in the first place.
At last he gave in, reversing just enough that I could barely pass. I nodded, my sweet expression accompanied by a royal wave. He was not amused, in fact he gave me a Hawaiian peace sign. I did not return the gesture. I merely scratched my nose with a well-manicured finger, ever so slightly extended. I am, after all, a lady.
My job keeps me in parking lots all day, five days a week. I drive a good-sized SUV. Between my lack of depth perception and occasional bouts of bursitis I need plenty of room to maneuver. Please, if you see me, try to get out of my way. My plate number is KU-GRR.
I do not drive off with drive-in movie speakers still attached like J, nor straddle the barriers at Burger King and need a tow truck to get me off like P did. I drive easily 2000 miles a month without hitting anything (although this winter I have come awfully close!).
I don't park in handicapped reserved or fire lanes. I try to stay near the back of the lot unless it is raining, snowing, too hot, too cold, looks like hail or if the bees are out. I do not snatch spots from blue-haired drivers. I am polite.
The guy in the yellow Hummer is another matter. That parking slot is mine, mister.
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