He's a Slammer, He's a Rammer, He's a No-Thank-You Wham-Bammer

What, exactly, is wrong with people? Seems like I've asked this question before, resulting in various opinions.

Wednesday, I had just parked T-Hoe at Orb K. I was perfectly within the lines of my parking space. Pretty sure if you got out and measured, the tires wouldn't have varied more than a centimeter difference in their distance from each side line. I had no need to park crookedly. I was in my preferred space, the one where my door opens up into the yellow-striped handicap lane where the sidewalk is ramped.

I like that space, because I don't have to step up on the sidewalk. It's not a designated handicap space. That's the one across the striped walkway. Has a wheelchair painted on the pavement, and one on a sign in front of it on the building. My space is up for grabs, for any degree of abledness.

I was grabbing my phone off T-Hoe's console when I saw the Slammer pull into the space on T-Hoe's right. That kind of surprised me, because the car in the space past that was encroaching on the line, leaving this empty space a bit tight. Yet here was a newer model gray SUV pulling in. Just as I glanced at it, the driver opened his door.

OPENED IT RIGHT INTO T-HOE'S MIRROR!

Rammed his gray door up against T-HOE's black side mirror. Thump! As he did so, he looked right into my eyes. I guess he didn't expect me to be sitting inside. His look was like, "Crap." Not an, "Oh, crap! That door got away from me! Oops!" Not an, "Oh, crap! She saw me do that! She's gonna say something!" Just a, "Crap. I got caught."

Slammer climbed out of the car and moseyed inside, all decked out in the local uniform of dark t-shirt, untucked into old jeans. He was joined by another such clad dude, perhaps a brother, as they both had the same not-quite-shaved short haircut without a part. Not that there's anything wrong with that. People can wear their hair any way they want. Slammer looked neither like a fancy-pants entitled snob, nor a tattooed ex-con. Just a regular guy, perhaps mid-to-late twenties.

I don't think any damage was done to T-Hoe's mirror. I didn't walk around to look. There wasn't much room between the cars. There were 8-10 other parking spaces available, but Slammer chose that one. It's not even a big deal, since the glass remained in T-Hoe's mirror, focused as before. He IS a 2008. Not pristine. Has some hail damage. Always dusty or muddy from our gravel road. It's just the IDEA of Slammer ramming his door into the mirror, and not even giving the sorry shrug, or saying anything as I climbed out as he walked by.

To rub salt in my out-of-joint nose, while I was in line inside, Slammer got in line right behind me. Yeah, I know, what was he supposed to do, leave without paying? I don't mean that. I mean that Slammer got in line RIGHT BEHIND ME. Like, looking over my shoulder behind me. I swear his breath moved my lovely lady-mullet. And he was off to the side a bit. So when I looked over at the scratcher display leaning against the front window to my left, I saw how close Slammer was to me, in my peripheral vision.

What, exactly, is wrong with people these days? Can they not judge personal space or distances between cars? And common courtesy is growing more uncommon by the day.