I get my car parked, open my door a fraction and let is lightly tap the pick-up truck. Then I do the crazy dance of trying to sideways squeeze my way out of my car, sucking my tummy in, while I curse the driver of the maroon pick-up under my breath. Just as I am finagling my way out, I hear a raspy voice shout, "thanks for hitting my car!" I look up and there is the Grumpy Old Man glaring at me as he walks across the parking lot. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and say curtly, "Sorry. You parked kind of close." Grumpy Old Man then starts rambling off about his new paint job. I look at his truck that must be at least ten years old and isn't shiny or gleaming and looks nothing like it was recently painted and opt to completely ignore him as he continues on with his rant. I walk right into the store, avoiding eye contact and get into the Walgreens. It then occurs to me that GOM is probably keying my car right now, but oh well.
Some people. Humph.
