So there’s this parking lot, never more than half-full, that most of the workers in my building park in. Technically, I think we’re not supposed to, but come on. It’s attached to a mall that is barely hanging on. Indeed, the owners of said mall are trying desperately to push a plan through council to move the library and city hall there, so they can divest themselves of what I presume is a monstrous money pit that no one goes to, because it has nothing left in it.

Hence, the mostly empty parking lot. So, we at our office park there, instead of paying ridiculous prices for municipal parking or the monthly fee for the parking at our own building (for which there is a waiting list, and for me, with a big van and roof rack, essentially have no access to, because it’s a parking garage I can’t fit into). The parking lot at the mall is dilapidated, filled with potholes, and because it’s closer to our work, we park at the far end of it, so you know, taking up the least valuable spots in the lot.

Still, I gather the mall people don’t want us there, but because we’re not hampering customers, it doesn’t seem to be much of a priority.

Until Karen.

I pull in, from the back way, because it’s direct between my house and it (it doesn’t make sense to go around), and park. I notice on the way in that there’s a purple car circling the lot. It’s weird, and I know something’s up, but I’m not sure what, yet.

So, I get out of the car, grab my lunch, laptop bag and coffee. Before I can get two feet, this car wheels up, window down and the haggard, raw cheeked face of a woman who clearly has too much money and time on her hands rips up. She starts demanding if I work where I do, if I know this is a private lot, blah blah blah.

She points at the signs at the entrance, stating this is a private lot – signs at the main entrance, not the entrance I come through. I point that out, and she says, doesn’t matter, they’re still there. She does not like my question, asking her if she checks every entrance/exit from every building she goes into, just in case there’s signage telling her if a place is private or not. It’s a bit facetious on my part, but like, I get it. We aren’t supposed to be parking there. Personally, I don’t think it’s a big deal because again, the parking lot is never more than half-full, and no one has ever been denied a spot because of the low number of vehicles from us currently parking there.

Apparently, she disagrees, because it’s clear this has been a bug in her bonnet for some time, and leaves me with the impression that she probably doesn’t actually own the place, but her husband does (let’s just say the car isn’t super impressive, but her outfit and Gucci purse clearly are intended to send the signal that she’s a richie rich. That may not be true, but it’s just the impression I get – that she actually has no authority at all, except maybe tangentially, and her husband (or whoever), got sick of hearing her bitch about the public servants causing no one any harm parking in her husband’s lot, and so, he told her to go do something about it, but wouldn’t sanction any official actions, and she knew the city wouldn’t get involved and she can’t start towing people, so yeah.

Here we are. Angry, rich, white woman, probably pushed over the edge because Poilievre lost and she can’t feel free spew her anger and hatred over the world from a position of power and entitlement, yelling at, again, public servants, for doing something that yes, is technically not allowed, from a strict legal sense, but is really a grey area at best from a logical, ethical stance.

Listen, I don’t know her deal. Maybe she works for the mall and thought this was a better option than towing cars she wasn’t entirely certain belonged to public servants. Maybe she owns the mall (I thought it was a local businessman by the name of Dan, but I don’t really know). Maybe she’s just having a really bad day. Maybe us parking there is causing some kind of extra expense we’re not aware of (but given the poorly maintained level of the parking lot, I strongly suspect not).

Listen, except the cheap shot of noting the signs indicating private property weren’t posted at the secondary entrance, I was nice about it. She was the angry face yelling at a random stranger from the window of her car. I try not to be confrontational; I don’t feel it’s particularly conducive most of the time.

But you know what? Fuck it.

There’s so many people who just can’t be bothered to even pretend to be nice to people, despite having, at best, the flimsiest of pretexts for being an asshole.

I’m done with it.

In retrospect, I wish I’d filmed it, so I could post it on the local rant & rave and see if it went viral and thoroughly embarrassed her, although from experience, I tend to see these people double down, rather than learn anything.

But yeah. Getting yelled at by a random stranger over something that yes, technically, I’ve done wrong, but in reality, is so utterly petty and pointless?

It’s official. I’m done being nice to people being so clearly shitty.

I won’t be a jerk for the sake of being a jerk, but I’m not ignoring it or explaining it away. We can understand where the other person is coming from while not sanctioning it or allowing it to continue. I will no longer tolerate shitty behaviour directed toward me and mine by people who are old enough to know better.

Game. Fucking. On.

Pricks.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1275 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Veniss Underground, Jeff Vandermeer
Comics: Hawk And Dove 24-26, Hawk And Dove Annual 2 (ah, dreaded Armageddon, which killed one of my favourite titles when I was young, by virtue of DC panic over a leaked ending that would have made a lot more sense, and instead required them to pivot incoherently to using Hawk as the villain, ending this series in its infancy)
Music: International Superhits!, Green Day