There is a man. A man with an enormous mustache. A man who owns a house next to mine, but does not live there. A man who, despite knowing the parking restraints on my street, insists on hogging his entire driveway, allowing no one to park there even in dire circumstances.
Imagine you are a young college student. You have stayed up all night reveling and imbibing and just as your poor gin-soaked self is falling off to sleep you hear a loud knocking at your door. The clock reads 6:30 a.m.
You think: “What emergency has befallen me such that I am to be awakened at this ungodly hour by such thunderous knocking at my door?!” You drag yourself to the door, acquiring a very large bruise on your shin from bumping in a coffee table that you don’t ever remember being there.
You open the door. You see a tiny mustached man, so angry he can barely speak the words “You. Need. To. Move. Your. Car.” Apparently, the fact that your tiny car has been in his driveway ALL NIGHT has driven him into a rage unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.
Could he have left a note? Sample note: Dear fellow resident, I understand that you, like me, suffer the agony of not being able to find a parking spot on this wonderful street where we both happen to live, though I do not technically live in my house and therefore have less need to park here than you do. The next time you park here and I find you home, please invite me in for some tea and crumpets and we’ll discuss this politely and humanely. Thanks – Mustache Man.
The best part about these early morning wake-up calls is that while moving your car you see at least six other spaces available. Parking spaces that would be suitable not just for your small, fuel-efficient car (as mentioned suavely in last week’s Cuff), but suitable for his extremely large, extremely old automobile. I’m genuinely afraid of this man, so I will not print the make and model of the vehicle, lest he murders me in my sleep.
As is, I’m pretty sure I won’t make it to Thursday if he reads this. So let it be written, so let it be done.
I know that others in my neighborhood are equally afraid of him, as well. His confrontational manner is not conducive to neighborly sentiment at all, a sentiment which is quite necessary in the highly social part of town where we both park and live.
Really, I’m mostly just afraid for him. I think that we should all contribute to this man’s yoga fund. Let us have pity on this unfortunate soul who has no other entertainment in life, but to harass college students and awake them early in the morning from their drunken slumbers. Yes, let us send him to a thrice- weekly yoga class in hopes that he will calm the hell down.
Mustached Mean Man, if you are reading this, take heart. There is help out there. The next time you see a car in your driveway that is not yours (it certainly won’t be mine, since you have scared the bejeezus out of me), take a moment. Look down the street. Do you see another appropriate parking space? Yes? Good. Drive down the street and park there. I assure you, the world will keep turning even if you don’t get to park in your own space.