Saturday, September 1, 2012

Wham, Bam, No Thank You, Ma'am

Dear Self-Centered Ignoramus:

Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? Surely you won't mind if I call you Iggy. Because that's a lot nicer than what I really want to call you.

I understand that the doors on cars these days are wider than a Kardashian rump. That it is sometimes difficult to open them in the area allowed by parking spaces. My own Tahoe door has two calibrations: not wide enough, and all the way. But because I drive my Tahoe every day, I am aware of his limitations. I sometimes need to hold him between his factory door-open settings in order to avoid making contact with a car next to me. Because that's the right thing to do.

You, Iggy, think the world revolves around you. That you are some kind of special. No doubt a belief fostered by your parents, your grandparents, your youth soccer league coaches, your elementary school teachers, and your gang of ne'er-do-well peers. I'm sure you have a mantel full of trophies and awards to prove your case. But the fact is, Iggy, that growing up an Ignoramus does not give you an excuse for your loutish behavior.

Perhaps you did not think that the Walmart security cameras would catch you pounding the bejeebers out of my Tahoe. That bystanders would call you out on the loud thumping you gave my rear passenger door. And most certainly, Iggy, you did not realize that I was sitting inside.

Yes, it is difficult to control your large driver's-side door with your cell phone jammed to your ear with your left hand. I'm sure your excuse is that you have a sensory processing disorder. That you can't cross the midline of your body. So controlling that heavy door with your right hand was next to impossible. You probably receive a disability check for this little-known affliction. Had you only switched the phone to your right hand, you could have easily curtailed that slam with your left hand. Oops! I forgot. You can't cross your midline. So you couldn't transfer that phone to the other hand when you needed to open your car door. And I certainly wouldn't expect you to get off the phone in order to get into your car and back out of that space and drive away.

Oh, yes. That was me that you heard screaming, "What's your problem?" immediately after the thump. Uh huh. That was me you saw glaring at you through my tinted window into yours. I'm the reason you visibly jerked when you realized that you had been caught. Why you started that car right up and gassed it out of the parking space, narrowly missing an old man. My fault, I'm sure, that you made a young man yank his daughter out of harm's way like that dog-walker in National Lampoon's Vacation, when Chevy Chase fell asleep behind the wheel of The Family Truckster, and sped down the off ramp in St. Louis.

And it was me, Iggy, who wrote down your license plate number in case the damage turned out to be noticeable when I had a chance to carefully open my Tahoe's door between factory settings without touching the car next to me.

See You in Court, Perhaps...



  1. Really, really hate this elite group of special people.

  2. I got so tired of all those people I used to work with crying about how everybody sues someone else at the drop of a hat. Well, that is why the judicial system is in place. Let's not just go out and shoot someone - let's cool our heels and think about how we can recompensate our loss. Not that I have not wanted to shoot any people, and the reason being only because I knew I would end up in prison. Not to say that I haven't had retribution in other ways. I am from West (by god) Virginia after all and know Hatfields and McCoys personally. Being surrounded by stupid people makes me very anxious. Glad I am retired and in my little own environment (which is very selective, by the way). But I do keep a loaded gun.

  3. I had a close encounter with a St. Louis Iggy today. I had met someone in a Walmart parking lot to pick up a rescue dog, had the dog's leash tied to the headrest of the back seat, was rolling to stop in the lot but had to stop short because of a car that came flying out in reverse out of its parking spot. I slammed to a stop, blocking them, glared at them, and they had the nerve to glare back. They had failed to even look before they started hurtling backwards.

    Yes, everyone is the exception. They're all special. They're all exempt from the rules.

    It's all because dodgeball's not allowed at school anymore...

  4. I hope vengence is yours and this guy's insurance is dinged.

  5. Oh Sioux! Dodgeball and Red Rover, Red
    Rover - Come on Over! Put 'em in their place!

  6. My 85 year old aunt sat in her son's new car waiting for him to get her prescription when two jerk kids came by and keyed the car...with her in it!

    Oh yeah, they're special alright!

  7. Kathy,
    Parents are cranking more of them out every day. That's why I have such confidence that my proposed handbasket factory will turn a profit.

    There is no shortage of that West Virginia attitude here in Missouri. At least if Sioux takes things into her own hands, we will be dodging bouncy red playground balls, not bullets.

    Some attribute the downfall of our civilization to the under-utilization of the board of education.

    Imagine my surprise when I hauled myself out of my Tahoe, stomped around to the other side, and saw no evidence of the brutal attack. It was quite anticlimactic.

    That's only slightly worse than the Halloween evening I sat in the car awaiting Hick's return with my costumed, candy-laden sons...and some teenage hooligans soaped the windows while looking through them at me. I don't get no respect. I'm the rural mom equivalent of Rodney Dangerfield.