I cannot remember the last time I was so incensed. Maybe I was already a little tense, trying to cope with single parenting for the week, making Spanish tapas for preschool snack (don’t ask), and finalizing plans for a LONG summer break with the kids. But when that skinny twit brazenly stole my parking space, I lost it. At least in my head I did.
It was such a beautiful day. Virtually no humidity, a rarity in and around our nation’s capital, and I was out for a spur-of-the-moment lunch with my mother. I knew the parking lot would be insane based on the line of cars I outwitted to get into the shopping center, so when I saw the rear white reverse lights as I pulled into the first row, I started to hum a little of Barry White’s Lady Luck in my head. In retrospect I should have been singing something a little more Rage-Against-the-Machine esc.
I pulled just beyond the parked car’s bumper like the courteous driver I typically am and signaled accordingly to let the masses know that they should look elsewhere- this spot was mine. Or so I thought. As I waited patiently for the driver to back out, a late model SUV swooped in and just stole the spot from under what should have been my tires. I was pissed and shocked, not a good combination for a retort.
I sat in the car and watched this twig of a woman emerge from the driver’s side, and I hate to admit it but my first thought was, “Oh, that is a cute haircut.” But I refused to let myself be distracted. The lingering compliment was quickly supplanted by a bevy of four-letter words racing through my head, so plentiful I was having a hard time figuring out which ones I should use and in what order to make some sort of semantic sense. So I reverted to my parenting mantra of the last two years as I have tried to encourage two now four-year-olds to talk first instead of merely react in a fit of rage, and all I could come up with was, “Excuse me but I was waiting for that spot.” I know, I know- I’m dodging the tomatoes right now and trying to block out the hiss of boos I’m quite sure my lame response is eliciting. What a disappointment.
The real salt I could feel her pouring into the wound, though, came as she calmly replied mid-stride on her way to lunch, “Well, so was I and I’m not moving.” That was it. She barely glanced at me, but I’m quite sure I could, even two weeks later, pick her out of a line up. I sat there stunned, barely aware that my mother was encouraging me to just find another spot.
Now, just because I mustered this degree of restraint does not mean this meshed well with the visceral reaction I kept at bay. I wanted to hurl wretched insults that would somehow ruin her life or at least her day. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the pulsating urge I experienced to get out of the car and cause her bodily harm, key her car, or slash her tires. I even went as far as to try to track her down inside one of the many restaurants in the shopping center, although I’m still not sure what I was trying to accomplish or what I would have done had the chance for face-to-face confrontation emerged. Needless to say- I couldn’t find her.
The shroud of anger lingered for a few minutes longer, my face literally hot with rage. I did eventually go on to have a wonderful and much needed lunch with my mom. But the entire experience kept eating at me, and I kept wondering why I was so affected by someone taking a parking space when I found another one a whole 45 seconds later. And it finally hit me- I was so angry because she had taken something from me that I covet entirely more than I should- control. I wasn’t really that mad that she was rude- it’s likely that I’ll never see let alone interact with this woman again. But she had wronged me, and there wasn’t one logical thing I could do to correct the matter. This is what grated on me until I could hear the playback of my own voice trying to convince my daughters of a little gem of wisdom that learned early will spare them of unneeded personal torture and torment: You will never be able to control the actions and feelings of others. But you are, 100 percent, in charge of how you allow yourself to feel and act. (It usually sounds more like this: why are you LETTING her annoy you?”) It was clearly time for me to start using some of that parenting advice I so regularly spew solicited or un. Perhaps I should start listening to myself more often.
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