The Most INTENSE Altercation of My Life

City: Halifax, NS

Location: Scotia Square Parking Garage

Protagonists: Me, a friend, and a Toyota Echo

Antagonists: Sketchy dirtbags in a 1990-something Mustang

In my years on this planet, I have let strangers push me around. Letting people butt in line at the grocery store, the bank, and various Subway restaurants. But this time...things were going to be different.

After enjoying the Bob Dylan show Wednesday night (which was lovely!), I was eager to get home and get some sleep to prepare for an adventure to Yarmouth. It was 10 pm, and I was dedicated to a specific goal: fairly and squarely getting out of the parking garage.

I took the keys on behalf of my friend as parking garage politics make her uncomfortable. I threw fear to wind and got behind the wheel, deciding that today I would be brave and face the neverending line. I drove to the end of the lineup in E1, a section filled with drivers foaming at the mouth over little openings in the queue. I didn't sneak along the side and wait for someone to let me in. I followed the rules.

But as we all know, there are people out there who do not follow social guidelines. They walk on the wrong side of the side walk. They litter. They are careless and selfish.

I looked ahead and saw a man in his massive Crown Royal-style automobile. He cut across some lanes and pulled right out into the line, almost hitting the car in front of me as it was deservingly advancing. Luckily, the driver in front of me reacted in time and avoided getting hit. But this guy gave the antagonists in the Mustang what they thought was a brilliant idea!

Mr. Mustang had pulled through some lanes and wanted to cut into my line. I had been waiting in the line about 10 minutes at this point. Mr. Mustang had been there for 30 seconds. His tobacco stained teeth were grinning at me, begging for a spot. As I avoided his eyes, I kept my focus on the car in front of me. I didn't let one spare inch of space rest in between us.

Then, as the car ahead started to move ahead, Mr. Mustang started pulling right out, directly at me, my friend, and the poor little Echo. Even if I had not moved ahead, he would have had hit me, and not made it out. Yet, he kept nursing the gas pedal.

But I was inching ahead, like I deserved. And the dirtbags kept coming at me and the little Echo. I was tense, just waiting to feel the car nudging ours, or just scratching the front. By the time he hit the breaks, his front bumper was just inches away from the car door, and my body. If he hadn't finally given up and hit the breaks, there would have been a big dent in the Echo, and perhaps in my physical form.

The most pathetic part might not even be that he was stupid enough to keep pulling out without getting the "go head" wave from me. It would be that there were only two cars behind me. Count em' up: one, two. So he would have to wait 5 more minutes, tops! He also had room to back out and go to the back of the lineup. But no - dirtbags in Mustangs should never have to wait for anyone! They should get to butt in line, or hit other people with their Craptangs.

The moral of the story is: don't almost hit me with a car in a parking garage with a Mustang, or I will complain about you on the Internet.