The Senior parking lot is hell. Absolutely crazy. Cars zipping all over the place, horns blaring, busses clogging the only exit, shouting, and ever second is a near miss… Blinkers don’t seem to exist there, and actually waiting until someone graciously lets you out unheard of. Cutting in front of patiently waiting cars is common- almost as common as playing chicken to see who gets the most sought after spot in line. The students wander all over the place, never once glancing behind them as they parade with their posse in the middle of the road, despite the aforementioned conditions. And what is this? Arrows are meant to tell you which direction to travel in? Nonsense, not in the high school senior lot! Everywhere is fair game- if it’s paved (and sometimes even if it’s not), you can drive anywhere on it you like. To some, it’s fun to see how close you can come to hitting the poor hall monitor sent out to direct traffic (badly, I might add).
Oh! I almost forgot! Sometimes, if you are a very nice person and work ever so hard at your studies, one of the steroid gobbling jocks might just slam his car door into the side of your vehicle, look you in he eyes, and then drive off without another moment’s hesitation. That’s right. Doesn’t that sound exciting and well worth all your effort to be courteous to other drivers in that hell hole?
Absolutely not, because that is exactly what happened to me this afternoon. My best friend was letting me out of my spot into the line of cars waiting to get out when three vulture cars (as I fondly call them) also pulled out to grab at the coveted spot. This was when the steroid gobbling jock jumped into the car to the right of me, wrenching his backseat passenger side door so hard that it slammed into my car’s side with a dead- sounding thunk. At first I thought ‘That sounded really loud…’ which soon turned in to ‘OHMIGOD THAT HIT MY CAR!’ The offender looked at me, closed his door, and pulled into the spot my friend had opened for me. I backed up into my spot- I had pulled out a foot before the vultures barred my way- and quickly memorized the license plate number. First I waved on my confused looking friends who hadn’t seen what history had just went down, wrote down the plate, and checked the damage. I spied two white scratch marks on the passenger side door handle and the door. With a bit of spit, most of it came off. But that’s not the point. WHO DOES THAT? Who just hits someone’s car and pulls away without a simple ‘oh, hey, did I just hit you? Any damage?’ Apparently people from the Senior parking lot, and I’s guess a ton of others.
I'm not angry, per say, just done with it all. And next time I’m calling the cops, no damage be damned.
