Eddy and I shared a parking spot he had Monday through Wednesday, I had Thursday through Saturday, and we alternated Sundays. It was a system that worked until Eddy left for Minnesota for a week and left his car in the spot.
When I came home and saw his car there, I gave him the benefit of the doubt that maybe he was on a later flight or there was some reason why his car was there when he didn’t even ask if it would be cool to leave it there. If getting a ticket was the problem, I’d have moved his car for him, something I planned on doing as soon as I found his keys.
Since he took his keys with him, I had a daily reminder of his consistent douchebaggery every time I had to look for a parking spot. Before he left I told him I would pick him up from the airport, and thought he could use a welcome home gift; something I could give him to show my appreciation for the inconvenience of the past week.
As expected, Eddy didn’t tell me he had checked bags and I spent an additional forty-five minutes circling the airport. When he approached the car, I could see he was exhausted from the long flight, but I didn’t spend an hour prepping to feel sorry for him. He opened the door and I moved the pad so he could sit down.
“Hey, girl,” he said, “Sorry I forgot to tell you I checked a bag. Have you been here long.?”
“No, only an hour. Don’t worry about it.”
I smiled and sounded sincere. It threw him off a little.
“Wow. You’re not going to yell at me? Did you get laid last night or something?”
“No.”
The pad was sitting in my lap. I grabbed a cigarette and lit it, throwing the pack on the pad. Naturally, he reached for them.
“Mind if I have one?”
“No, go ahead.”
“What’s that?” he was pointing at the pad.
“Oh… It’s, um…”
He grabbed it and looked at the names, numbers, and random notes on it.
“Something happened,” I told him.
“What?”
“It’s your car.”
“What happened to my car?”
“Well, you know how the dumpster is really close to the spot?”
“Yeah.”
I told him a story about how the trash people came and as they were emptying the dumpster, it slid off the forks and landed on his car. The pad had names of insurance companies and claims adjusters and police officers and report numbers.
I told him because I couldn’t get into the car, I couldn’t provide proof of insurance, so he got a ticket for that. The ticket number and court information was on the pad.
The layout of the pad was as if I had collected the information from various phone calls. I would grab a pen and write some information down, like the insurance information for the trash company, and put the pad down and grab a different pen to write down the police report information. By putting the pad down and grabbing a different pen, the writing never quite lined up and was a different thickness or color than the other notes and numbers.
He sat staring at the pad bright and early in the morning after a long flight and asked how his car was.
“I’m not sure. It might be driveable. Maybe… but the window was smashed and some garbage got into it. I didn’t get it out, though. I’m not sure if you would have wanted that.”
“Oh.”
He was quiet all the way home. I tried to ask him how his trip was and got answers like “Fine,” “Fun,” or, “Ok, I guess.” For someone usually so talkative, especially about himself, it was a welcome relief.
As we pulled off the freeway and Eddy prepared himself to see his car.
“You know,” I started, “I was thinking how glad I was you left your car there. I would have been parked in the spot if you hadn’t left it the spot without asking. I dodged a bullet on that one, huh?”
He didn’t say anything. We turned the corner and he saw his car sitting in the spot, totally untouched and exactly as he left it. He looked confused.
“I don’t get it.”
“Next time you leave town, we should talk about parking.”
“So this isn’t real?”
“Nope.”
“So you had me worried all the way home?”
“Yep.”
“For nothing?”
“Nope. For me. And I expect to get the spot for the whole week this week.”
“Fine. You’re one sick bitch.”
“Welcome home.”
“That was good. It looked so real. And you were so convincing.”
“Thanks.”
“Props, bitch.”
“Thanks, now move your car.”
B
When I came home and saw his car there, I gave him the benefit of the doubt that maybe he was on a later flight or there was some reason why his car was there when he didn’t even ask if it would be cool to leave it there. If getting a ticket was the problem, I’d have moved his car for him, something I planned on doing as soon as I found his keys.
Since he took his keys with him, I had a daily reminder of his consistent douchebaggery every time I had to look for a parking spot. Before he left I told him I would pick him up from the airport, and thought he could use a welcome home gift; something I could give him to show my appreciation for the inconvenience of the past week.
As expected, Eddy didn’t tell me he had checked bags and I spent an additional forty-five minutes circling the airport. When he approached the car, I could see he was exhausted from the long flight, but I didn’t spend an hour prepping to feel sorry for him. He opened the door and I moved the pad so he could sit down.
“Hey, girl,” he said, “Sorry I forgot to tell you I checked a bag. Have you been here long.?”
“No, only an hour. Don’t worry about it.”
I smiled and sounded sincere. It threw him off a little.
“Wow. You’re not going to yell at me? Did you get laid last night or something?”
“No.”
The pad was sitting in my lap. I grabbed a cigarette and lit it, throwing the pack on the pad. Naturally, he reached for them.
“Mind if I have one?”
“No, go ahead.”
“What’s that?” he was pointing at the pad.
“Oh… It’s, um…”
He grabbed it and looked at the names, numbers, and random notes on it.
“Something happened,” I told him.
“What?”
“It’s your car.”
“What happened to my car?”
“Well, you know how the dumpster is really close to the spot?”
“Yeah.”
I told him a story about how the trash people came and as they were emptying the dumpster, it slid off the forks and landed on his car. The pad had names of insurance companies and claims adjusters and police officers and report numbers.
I told him because I couldn’t get into the car, I couldn’t provide proof of insurance, so he got a ticket for that. The ticket number and court information was on the pad.
The layout of the pad was as if I had collected the information from various phone calls. I would grab a pen and write some information down, like the insurance information for the trash company, and put the pad down and grab a different pen to write down the police report information. By putting the pad down and grabbing a different pen, the writing never quite lined up and was a different thickness or color than the other notes and numbers.
He sat staring at the pad bright and early in the morning after a long flight and asked how his car was.
“I’m not sure. It might be driveable. Maybe… but the window was smashed and some garbage got into it. I didn’t get it out, though. I’m not sure if you would have wanted that.”
“Oh.”
He was quiet all the way home. I tried to ask him how his trip was and got answers like “Fine,” “Fun,” or, “Ok, I guess.” For someone usually so talkative, especially about himself, it was a welcome relief.
As we pulled off the freeway and Eddy prepared himself to see his car.
“You know,” I started, “I was thinking how glad I was you left your car there. I would have been parked in the spot if you hadn’t left it the spot without asking. I dodged a bullet on that one, huh?”
He didn’t say anything. We turned the corner and he saw his car sitting in the spot, totally untouched and exactly as he left it. He looked confused.
“I don’t get it.”
“Next time you leave town, we should talk about parking.”
“So this isn’t real?”
“Nope.”
“So you had me worried all the way home?”
“Yep.”
“For nothing?”
“Nope. For me. And I expect to get the spot for the whole week this week.”
“Fine. You’re one sick bitch.”
“Welcome home.”
“That was good. It looked so real. And you were so convincing.”
“Thanks.”
“Props, bitch.”
“Thanks, now move your car.”
B
Posted by Peanut Butter And Jealous 
