To Whom It Obviously Did Not Concern:
Yes, as a longtime observer of your culture, I am aware that in Chicago after a heavy snowfall, there is a quaint local custom in which the natives dig out parking spaces, and then metaphorically piss all over their turf by piling chairs, milk crates, and other assorted debris in the spaces they have shoveled out to stake their claim on the location when leaving, so as not to have to shovel out another spot when they return.
You don’t know me, so you probably weren’t aware when you smashed both of my driver’s side windows into smithereens that I had already done more than my share to rid the curbsides of the North Side of the results of this weekend’s blizzard. On Saturday afternoon, I shoveled my car out so I could take some things over to my pregnant sister’s house. That’s 2 spaces shoveled: one here, and one there. Then I shoveled myself out of an ill-advised three-point turn, leaving my pants caked in snow up to my knees. I shoveled myself out again on Sunday so I could go get some groceries in the house.
As my back, neck, and shoulders have been intermittently hurting like hell lately anyway, the shoveling didn’t exactly help matters, so by the time I got home with my groceries Sunday evening, I was in a decent amount of pain. And oh, how glad I was to see an empty parking spot right in front of my building, since the 2 others on the block that I had already shoveled out myself had since been snatched by others.
As I pulled in, I saw a chair tossed onto the 18" of snow covering what is normally the lawn in front of the building. I hesitated for a second, knowing about the quaint local turf-staking custom and the occasional mishaps that befall those who do not heed it. But then I thought better of it; after all, maybe the shoveler had already left for the evening; there are a number of restaurants and shops nearby, so maybe he/she was just enjoying my neighborhood for a few hours. Or maybe the chair had been tossed aside by someone else. In any case, I reasoned, I had paid my dues, and there were no other spots nearby, even unshoveled, and I was hurting and still had to carry groceries inside over some likewise unshoveled sidewalks. And after all, public city streets belong to all the city’s residents, do they not?
How silly of me to assume that you would understand, let alone concur with, my line of reasoning. Apparently shoveling out a parking spot gives the shoveler ownership rights for the rest of the winter, or at least until the snow has melted and/or been plowed away, and I am a fool for not doing the same as you with the multiple parking spots I shoveled myself. I just have this real estate gig all wrong.
And how kind of you to show me the error of my ways by not only shattering my windows, forcing me to shell out a rather large amount of money and miss half the morning at my new job to get them replaced, but you also informed me of my anatomical inadequacies by writing the pithy insult “Needle Dick” on the hood of my car in what appears to be dish soap (as well as soaping my remaining windows so I couldn’t see through them, even after trying to clean them with windshield wipers and glass cleaner). You obviously know me more intimately than I know myself.
You, Sir (or Ma’am, though somehow I doubt you are a Ma’am, and I suspect that as for needle dicks, it takes one to know one), are an asshole. I would post this little love note on my car where you can see it, but I don’t care to have you break the rest of my windows - I’d rather use the cash for a massage for my painful shoulders and neck.
More Sincerely Than You Can Believe,
Eva Luna
