I’m not one to get into the newest fads or social networking trends, but I might be able to get into Twitter. I understand it kind of works this way: You just post some random thought of the day (or hour or minute) about basically nothing. I guess that’s a change from Facebook, where people post random thoughts about absolutely nothing. I haven’t looked into either one much, so maybe they’re very much the same. But I digress.
There are so many times each day when I am in a situation or am pondering some random thought when it hits me: I should write this down! But where’s the pen and paper or advanced android-enabled 7G device when you need one? So of course in 0.4 seconds the fleeting thought flies through my mind (Is that why they call it Twitter?), never to be thought of again.
Take today, for instance. I’m sitting outside my son’s school at pick-up in my hot car (hot as in uncomfortably warm, not hot as in Ferrari 458 Italia), with the full afternoon sun on me when I realize that the driver of the car parked kitty corner to me has black-tinted windows, is parked in the custodian’s driveway between two red curbs, and has her engine and air conditioner running even though the sun is streaming through the empty passenger-side window (or would be if the window weren’t tinted) and not the driver’s side. Now, mind you, if she doesn’t mind paying for the gas, which at this writing is $3.85 a gallon, that she’s wasting while sitting in her Acura SUV (which, I’m assuming gets as bad or worse gas mileage as my Toyota), so be it. It’s her decision. (That she’s spewing emissions from her tailpipe and a/c unit is a discussion for another day–or Twitter post of another day, if I ever get on board.)
But what bothered me is that she was parked in the custodian’s driveway (between, as I mentioned, two red curbs) because she was what, too privileged to park in a regular parking space? Now, mind you, Friday is a difficult day to park at the school. I’ll give her that. It’s trash day, so the street’s curbs are littered with empty trash cans. But there’s a simple solution to the trash can situation. It’s called getting off of your lazy butts and moving them up off the street. For God’s sake, they’re empty. And on wheels! How much easier could it get? And if they were moved, there’d be plenty of spaces to park along the curb.
In fact, I had done just that. I stopped my humble Corolla, put it in neutral, set the emergency brake, opened my door, stepped out of the car, wheeled the nearest can off of the roadside, and resumed parking my vehicle. That took about 15 seconds–and I’m being generous. Ms. Acura had arrived at the school before I had, so the parking space I ended up in–which could have fit two SUVs–was available when she pulled up. But I suppose it’s too much of a hassle to have to get down off of those plush leather seats to move a filthy trash can out of the way in order to park legally. Am I right?
And if that’s not enough, when the car parked in a legal space in front of her pulled out, she moved up into that space, even though a woman in another vehicle was waiting patiently for that very spot. I don’t know what runs through people’s selfish minds these days. Definitely something to tweet about.
Oh, and then there was the woman parked behind me at school yesterday who thought everyone wanted to hear “Rocket Man” blasting from her stereo . I was in the middle of a Bill Bryson essay. I was trying to read, OK? That shouldn’t be too hard to do while sitting in a vehicle on a typically quiet street by myself. But no, this woman must have thought a thirty-nine-year-old Elton John song was entertainment desired by everyone within earshot. Now, of course, it wasn’t Eminem or Ludacris or some rap act that some people might find objectionable, but it was music being played louder than necessary while I was trying to read.
And then, just the day before that. . . . Never mind. I’m just going to tweet the rest.