It's The Little Things

I'm not going to get to the point of this little tale for a while, so just bear with me.

Today was the final game of my friends' son's high school football career. He is being recruited by several colleges, but he has already been told by a major Division One program that he doesn't look like one of their typical running backs. Actually he's built like a lot of tailbacks, around 5'10", 200 lbs, with a lot of strength and forward speed, but he's a member of a minority in football circles -- he's white.

This afternoon his team lost in the first round of the playoffs, not unexpected since their coach sucks, but he had a great game. When the game was televised later today, the commentators couldn't have been more complimentary. We were all amazed at how thoroughly informed they were about the players from both squads. They even knew details about some of their fathers, since a lot of the boys had dads who had played for the same high school team or they had been college standouts somewhere.

After the game I got back to my car and discovered to my dismay that it was locked with the keys in the ignition. I got distracted by some friends who pulled up next to me while I was getting out of my car and didn't hear the buzzing my car makes when the key is in the ignition and the car door is open. 

Unfortunately my car can't be opened with a Slim Jim -- the local police tried that once before, the only other time this has happened. A lady locksmith had to come out and snake a wire through a window to open things up.

I have an extra key for my car somewhere in my house, but I haven't seen it for a couple of years. I called the police to let them know I would be leaving it in the parking lot so they wouldn't tow it. They were nice enough to ask if a baby was inside and whether the engine was running. No and no. Okay, lady, you're on your own. They only come out for potential dead babies and cars that could drive away by themselves. They did, however, put me in touch with a locksmith who informed me that he couldn't come until Monday. 888 USA Lock. Is that a great phone number or what?

So I just left my car and went home with my friends who had invited me to their house for a party anyway. I just got there a little earlier than I planned dressed in polar fleece instead of a cashmere sweater.

Some folks at the party offered to drive me home, which was a little out of their way, but I was very glad they were willing to help me out. 

Now here's the part I've taken so long to get to: when we got to my house, someone had parked their car smack dab in front of my driveway. WTF?  Not that I needed my driveway tonight, since my car was parked about ten miles away at a high school in Hilary Clinton's former hometown.

But it was the principle of the thing. What if I had been driving my car? I would be inconvenienced. I would have to drive on my park way or, horrors, park on the street. The nerve!

The first thing I did was to decide not to knock on doors looking for the owner, because it was pretty late. The second thing I did was write a note to leave on the windshield.  It said, "In case you didn't notice, you parked in front of my driveway." I wanted to start out "Dear Asswipe," but I decided not to. In fact, I decided not to leave the note at all.

Because I called THE POLICE instead. Yes, the very same cops who tramped through my house executing a wellness check. However, I didn't call 911, because it wasn't an emergency. I just told a dispatcher that some idiot had parked in front of my driveway and I wanted him or her or whoever to get a ticket for being so incredibly stupid. So, when you people have time, could they send a patrol officer to check out the situation.

It's been about an hour since I called. If the car is still there I'll check to see if it has a ticket on it. If it doesn't have a ticket on it I will sit on the front fender and rock it back and forth until the alarm goes off. Then I will walk away.

Here goes.

UPDATE: The car was gone. I was so disappointed. I don't know whether it got a ticket or not.