Those that know me, know one of my pet hates is people too lazy to park in a designated space in a car park, preferring to use the child spaces, the disabled spaces, or the worst case scenario, the pick up/set down point. Today, whilst shopping I went to leave the supermarket and the weather was being positively torrential. Instead of giving my shopping a good dowsing I decided I would run over to the car, bring it round to the pick up/set down point, and load up there, just like the space had been intended.
That was the plan. Except for Mr. F. L. B’stard (or Fat Lazy to his friends) in his maroon Renault Scenic RE52 FKM. I politely asked him would he mind moving on, because he’d been there 10 minutes and this was a pick up/set down point. He politely replied, “My wife’s just gone inside, she’ll only be a minute and she doesn’t want to get wet.” I then made the not unreasonable request of him moving back a bit, so I could at least squeeze my car in, and then fill it that way. Once again he replied politely, “Fuck off, and mind your own fucking business.” Obviously turning the key of his ignition was too likely to cause him a coronary. So I did what I could, parked alongside his car, and loaded as quickly as I could.
Now leaving the car park, and I need fuel, so I stop in the Petrol Station. As I undo my petrol cap, I notice Mr. F. L. B’stard (or Fat Lazy to his friends) round the corner. He slows down, winds down his window, and baits me with “I suppose you want a spanking do you.” I didn’t say yes, because my ideal spanking would be from a young nubile masseuse, not a man who makes the tide come in when he sits on the beach. I just smiled sweetly, memorised his registration, and hoped that I’d bump into him sometime in the near future.
On the way home, and some 7 or 8 miles later, I notice that traffic is slowing for a Maroon Renault Scenic reversing into its drive. I check the registration, and sure enough it’s him. Horns start to appear from my head. In the words of Baldrick “I have a cunning plan.”
At home I have an old cable lock with a four-digit combination. None if this namby pamby fart and it’ll break type of cable lock, but the sort that needs an oxyacetylene torch to cut through it. I also have an IP based phone number, that is not a lot else than an answer machine. I will go to Mr. F. L. B’stard (or Fat Lazy to his friends)’s house, and cable lock his gate. I will then pop a note through his door, asking for an apology, and I will leave him my IP phone number so he has to phone me and grovel. When I am satisfied he’s apologised enough, I will give him the combination. I will also record the conversation. I can’t be done for criminal damage, because I haven’t done any damage to his property. I can’t be done for obstruction because the only thing he can’t do is move his car.
That’ll teach him,
Donald Trump FACTS!
6 months ago