I.T. John snaps at us frequently. He makes it clear that he is disappointed in our inadequacy as garage mates. Well, he makes it clear to me. Not to Reed. Nobody ever yells at Reed … mysteriously. Hmph.
Anyway, it leaves me nervous and jumpy. So, when I had to park the car the other day. This is how it went…
I pull up to the garage. Hands are safely at 10 and 2 … though my drawing makes it look more like 11:37 and 1:15.
I pressed the button on the clicker.
An impatient lass, I clicked it again about a hundred times.
Nothing. What the?!
I don’t think I was swearing at this point. I like to think I wasn’t. But I’m pretty sure my friend and my son were concerned about my sanity, self-control, yadda yadda yadda.
There we go. It finally worked. Maybe it needs new batteries. What kind of batteries does it take? Where do they sell them? Do I have to write to the manufacturer? How do I find out who that is? Is our stuff getting dusty in there? Can you vacuum a garage? Do you use a regular vacuum or an industrial one? What is an industrial vacuum? Does that exist? Is that lump on my elbow cancer?
Okay. Focus. It’s go time. I clear my mind of all … most distractions. I’m going to get so close to this wall it will blind people. They will be lose their vision because they will be so amazed at my parking expertise and closeness.
Garage door still rising. That squeaking must drive the neighbors insane. It seems like a little DW40 would do the trick. WD40? I think I have some. I need to oil that bathroom door hinge. Where is the little red straw? My son thought of it as a toy. I hope he didn’t put it in his mouth. Is he getting cancer from it? Does he get enough vitamin A?
And there she blows. The Camaro. It actually is a pretty cool car. Too bad its owner is about to go blind when he sees my insanely amazing parking job!! Bam!
I warn the passengers: “EVERYONE OUT! I’M GOING TO GET THIS CAR SO CLOSE TO THE WALL THAT YOU WILL GO BLIND! YOU’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET OUT ON THAT PASSENGER SIDE! NO WAY! GET OUT AND PUT SOME SUNGLASSES ON QUICKLY! SHIELD YOUR RETINA FROM MY PARKING BRILLIANCE!!”
My friend and my son flee. I think some forrest animals scamper for higher ground. They sense something huge is about to happen. A Parking Revolution perhaps.
Slowly I pull “The Bentley” into the garage. The parking will be magical, but it will not be fast. Magic takes time. Am I close enough? Can I get closer? Should I get a tennis ball and hang it from the ceiling so I’ll know when have pulled in far enough? Do any of the stores I patronize sell tennis balls. Target probably. Right? Does my attempt to draw my friend holding her purse look like an racist drawing of a black woman with an enormous butt? Seriously, that’s supposed to be her purse. I need to fix it and rescan. But I’ll never have the time or energy to do that. Will she be offended? Will she believe me? Never mind that now! Focus on the parking!!
I realize I am a pinch too close to the wall … and to the toy chest between The Bentley and the wall. Correct! Correct! Why is the cracking and scratching continuing after I keep correcting? Turn more! It’s not working!!
Well, the stupid Camaro is fine. Scratch free, untouched. My car and my son’s toy chest are another story. So frustrating. I don’t handle frustration well. Dr. Banner and I are not good at that.