The Notes of Strangers

I had a first today, Blog. Of of all my years of living in Uptown and parking on its narrow and cramped streets, this morning I finally got my first passive/aggressive note that indicated frustration at the lack of parking skill I had displayed last night when I positioned my lengthy Mercury Sable adjacent to a driveway.

Speaks for itself.

They are right on two counts: I don't have a compact car (see: Mercury Sable) and I am kind of a jackass for positioning the butt of it next to a driveway. But I don't want to be seen that way by a stranger. I get that there is always going to be someone who isn't happy with what you do in this world, no matter how well-meaning you are (the reason I am notorious for putting the butt of my car up against driveway openings is so there is enough room for other cars to park down the street), but I couldn't help but feel a little hurt that such a blatant generalization had been made in regard to my character; based on the shitty positioning of a shitty 1997 Mercury Sable, no less.

I mulled it over today and returned my car to the streets of Uptown this afternoon. I tucked it away on the side of the street where there was ample parking space for my non-compact car to jack-assedly take up. I turned over the torn fragment of paper and attempted to take what harsh criticism I could, and use the rest of my despair over the situation towards killing my disgruntled mystery person with slightly snarky kindness:

I'm banking on my decent penmanship to carry me through this one.

I have no idea if anyone will come across it and take the time to read it. I have no idea if the person who left the inital note is someone who lives in my building or down the street. But I figure that there is a chance that they will see me get into or out of my car, and therefore will associate me with being that "Jackass who puts their giant car wherever the hell they want" without me even realizing it. The best I can do is acknowledge that I am indeed a jackass and will be more mindful in the future of where I position my car on the testy streets of the Whittier neighborhood, because in the end the last thing I want to be doing is pissing off strangers.