Simple errands are seldom simple

So, let me begin by saying that I'm not gonna say I was drinking (alcohol) and I'm not gonna say that I wasn't either. Great way to start a story huh.... You just know that this is gonna be tasty, so hopefully I don't disappoint - and if I do then tough, deal with it.

I was at our friendly Woolies down the road getting a few, according to my pregnant wife, essentials like caramel cupcakes, plums, fudge and caramel spread... go figure. I've learned, especially during her first pregnancy, not even think about justifying their particular delicacy cravings. It's like their latent PMS has somehow developed into a hormonal ESP.

So, I get the "essentials" and make my way towards the car. Once I get to the car I find myself a little stumped... Is this my car or did I park somewhere else? Yes, it is my car that is beautifully snuggled in between this left-hand drive Mustang (definitely an import job) and a VW Toureg SUV. Now, when I say snuggled, what I really mean is crammed between them without the possibility of parole. This car was at most 10cm next to the Mustang on the left and 15cm next to the Toureg on the right. I gave the Mustang the benefit of the doubt because it was a left-hand drive, and having totalled a LFD previously, I realise that it's not as easy driving this type of car as it seems, but there was no excuse for the owner of the Toureg.

Given the situation I did the next natural thing, I scouted for the car guard who was always there pointing out the obvious. I mean these guys are absolutely useless. They point to an open parking once you're within one and half meters from the open bay and give you parking instructions like you're about to park a Boeing 747 in a space that would only fit a Hot Wheels micro car. I mean WTF! I'm pretty sure that I've got a drivers license that confirms if not implies that I am able to park a vehicle in a normal alley docking scenario. WTF!

Also, doesn't the designation car guard mean that he/she is a fucking guard for the car. When did they all of a sudden get promoted to those airplane parking attendants with the glow in the dark table tennis bats. I guess I missed that memo.

Another thing that pisses me off about these so called car guards is that when something does happen to you car, like a break in or theft, God forbid that one, of the fifteen that were present when you parked you car, can be found to offer any help even if it were only to describe the guys that broke into or stole your car.

Anyway, after reconnoitering the nearest guard, I asked him what's happened and his response was that he pointed out to the owner of the SUV the err of his ways but was told to "Fuck off!"

Now I could just wait for the irritating twat that's prevented me from entering my car via the doors or windows (yes, I considered the windows as well) or I could improvise. I choose the latter. Realising a window of opportunity, I took it immediately without further thought. I have one of those cars that allows you to unlock the doors and open up the windows at a double-click and hold of a button (something that took me 10 years to find out, and even then it was by accident). Once I had unlocked all the doors and opened up the windows, I set my "groceries" down on the roof of my car and began climbing onto the hood of the Toureg making my way up to the car's roof. Once in this heightened position, I danced a little jig of accomplishment leaving a few indents on the SUV's uppermost exterior.

Next, I carefully hopped over to my car, grabbed my parcels and slid down into the interior via the open sunroof. Wooohooo! Betcha didn't think of that. Betcha also didn't think of the 3 neanderthal-looking occupants of the car that came running towards me as I sailed into the drivers seat. I mean these guys looked like the missing link. If the size of the one giant's fist (I'm assuming the owner of the Toureg) as he waved it in the air, mouthing out profanities whilst steam whistled out his head and spittle out his mouth, wasn't scary enough, the mere fact that there were three of these slightly irate individuals closing in on me made consider whether my adventurous mini-rebellion was really the option I should've taken.

Those that know me know that I can handle myself in a physical altercation and that I don't back down from a fights easily, so I did what any other fighter with experience would do in a scenario like this. I shifted into gear, slammed my foot down on the gas and hightailed it outta there with my tail between my legs. I live approximately 3 minutes and 17 seconds from this particular Woolworths Food outlet but the journey home took me just over 20 minutes. Somewhere from the back of my mind surfaced a useful titbit I picked up in the days of yore, the fact that if you serpentine they won't getcha. And that's exactly what I did. I bobbed and weaved and serpentined the 22 minutes home.

So now, a few days later, and they still haven't got me. But if by some miracle, the aforementioned primates are reading this, then allow me this last statement: maybe you should stop swinging on vines and learn how to park properly like normal humans do before you muttonheads wanna tango with the likes of me. PS. Eat shit and die... mofos!

On a more personal note: God, please don't let them find me.

So, until my next post, take it easy. And if you get it easy, take it again.