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Lemonspouting, Napkin Notes & War



Last night, I parked unevenly in my covered parking stall at my new apartment. I wasn’t in the habit of making this ruthless mistake. I’d only lived in my new high-rise for four months and had never parked over either yellow line: left or right, nor too close to either line.  

This is where the lemonspouting came in: Number 84, as she called herself, decided to leave a napkin note on my windshield the next morning. Number 84, referred to her stall. When I saw my mistake, I felt bad for my error. I wanted to apologize, but I was given no opportunity. The napkin note I’d received from Number 84 suggested an undercurrent of rage. Polite script with wolf’s teeth. Lemonspouting with acid dripping off the lips. Sure, she wasn't spitting lemon drops at me, but she wanted to bite.

In the current climate of environmental protectionism, I understand SUV owners are really under the gun. Number 84, SUV owner, took my crooked parking as a sign of disrespect toward her larger vehicle. This thought hadn’t crossed my half-baked brain when I pulled in that night. I hadn’t crossed the yellow line, but I’d parked exactly up to it on her driver’s side. Number 84 sniffed political affront. I drove in very late that night, too tired, and accidentally parked off-centre. End of story. 

My mind reeled at the implications. How often do we lemonspout and imagine the end of the world, before really checking out the pure simplicity of the situation? I know I often do. Would she laugh if she knew what had happened was a silly, impersonal, mistake?

I doubt it. The next day, the car to the left of me parked over the yellow line into my spot. I laughed, but also groaned. How ironic! Even though I squeezed over as far as I could, Number 84 was still going to have a tight fit. Then I thought, is this how wars are started?


I began to meditate on this. If you could take a war back to its beginnings, what original dispute would have sparked the fire? Were they accidental misunderstandings? I remembered Number 84 as I caught a glimpse of her getting into her SUV. I’d first met her in the elavator when I was moving in and had said hello. I also told her the elevator had been sticking. She looked straight at me and said, " I’m not going to deal with you." 

I was trying to be a new friendly neighbour, but immediately gave up. Ironically, we found each other parked side by side for 2 years. Number 84 waged other parking battles with me when she found the opportunity, lemon dripping from her teeth.






  
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