I was behind a woman who was attempting to park this morning.
(I know, cool story bro, but stick with me)
Twice she attempted to back into parking spaces and twice she pulled out, realising she hadn’t quite nailed it the first time round and someone was waiting behind her.
That someone was me (hi), and I was being very patient.
I wasn’t doing a slow handscap or pretending to yawn or, you know, ramming her – but after much negotiating with the curb she eventually gave up and sped off aggressively into the distance …
Never to be seen again….
Or at least until we caught up at the lights, and there I smiled at her knowingly, trying to tell her with a slightly crossed eye that I got her. I too was from the ‘pull in – AWWW FUCKED IT UP I HATE EVERYONE – pull out’ school of thought.
It’s a very particular school with few merits and hardly any prospects. You get a degree in impatience, but the final exam involves watching snails paint a wall dry.
Parking badly is the worst thing in the world. We all know that when you park badly your least favourite teacher chuckles, sips from a decanter of whisky, and sneers, ‘I always knew they would amount to nothing.’
Which is why I like to keep it to to one attempt, before screaming ‘haunted parking space!’ and speeding off to look for a NCP.
My back up plan is to leave the car in the middle of the street and jump on the nearest motorbike that has a hot chick on the back, because then people would think I was cool.
My failed parking record last week was four. I pulled into and then out of four parking spaces, all mere metres apart, and in front of the same car.
(Then cars, obviously, as I caused a bit of a queue.)
During the pulling in, hitting the curb and swearing portion of the failed parking attempts, I was calling all the cars Mother F’s, telling the pavement to go F itself, demanding Radio 4 shut the F up and accusing the curb of being a F face. All whilst gesticulating widely and making low throated groaning noises of despair.
Obviously I gave up and sped off, only to circle back when I thought the other cars had gone.
But my intense burst of child like anger was truly a ‘Hulk Smash’ moment – a common pyschiatric term for saving up your frustrations, pushing them deep deep inside, and then unleashing them during the most inappropriate moment.
Like when you fall out with a cup of tea.
I always fall out with cups of tea.
Last week I knocked a cup of tea off my side table, onto the floor and it went ALL OVER my precious floor debris.
This includes, and is not limited to, old copies of Empire, assorted plasters, a thermal sock, lipbalm and a USB stick.
I then went on a long rant about how that was the best cup of tea I ever made, and I was so tired of this ongoing battle against inanimate objects, which I was so clearly loosing.
Usual mixture of pity, self importance and paranoia that comes with the Hulk Smash moment, along with a couple of rounds of ‘This Always Happens to Me.’
Aside from parking and general hand to eye co – ordination, the other things which also enrage my green monster are
– door frames
– the part of my brain that deals with spatial awareness
– molecules that heat things up
– wi fi that stops buffering TV shows when I go to the toilet
– the money I leave in places which isn’t my wallet
– my brain when it forgets I already ate the delicious thing it’s exciting about eating
-random bits of hard food
-anything that leaks
What are your Hulk Smash moments?
Don’t answer, it’s retorical. I don’t care.
I do care.