Tonight I drove into Georgetown for a friend’s birthday. I really, really dislike driving in the District. Street parking is far and few between so I was lucky to find a parking spot that I could just pull into as there was another spot open behind me. These are the events of the evening as they occurred.
Scene opens on: Me, sitting in my car, having just pulled into parallel parking spot.
Man begins to pull into the spot behind me. I lurch forward when the man hits my rear bumper as he attempts to squeeze his Subaru Forrester into the small D.C. spot.
I quickly pull forward another foot or so to give the man more room to park, then get out of the car to tell him he has hit me and get his information.
As I am watching the man try to further squeeze into the spot, he hits my car again. Man gets out of car. Man is NOT a happy camper.
“Um, hi, I need to get your information.”
“You just hit my car.”
“How do you know?!?” (Man is shaking he is so angry. Like, so angry he can barely put together a coherent sentence).
“I just watched you hit my car. I just watched you watching me as you hit my car.”
“You know what, come here! Come over here!”
(I proceed to follow the man. Have I learned nothing in life? Of course I will blindly follow an irate stranger to an unknown location).
The man goes on to tell me “You see this, this is the price you pay for driving in the city!” (Man points to his very badly scratched up bumper and he is about to FLIP A LID at this point).
“Ok, sorry about your bumper, but you hit my car and I’d like to get your information.”
(Five years ago Julie would have never said this, in fact I would have been apologizing to him for having been in his way, for having been born, for breathing the same air as him. But over the years I have turned into a Strong Black Woman, as Kathy Griffin would call it, and my reaction at this point was OH HAY-ELL NO child are you getting away with this!”
“Well, you should have pulled forward!”
“I did pull forward to give you more space after you hit me the first time.”
“Whatever!” Man scribbles down his insurance information on his business card and throws it at me as he stomps off. If I hadn’t made it clear enough already, boyfriend was AN-GRY.
Moral of the story
- Driving in D.C. is pretty much the worst
- Therefore, avoid driving in D.C. and stay home as much as possible
- A mild case of agoraphobia is completely normal
In all seriousness,