I need to get a grip.
I was extremely irritable yesterday morning. I had to cancel Saturday afternoon plans and come into work and work until 2 in the morning because a client freaked out irrationally and demanded a project be done NOW. Said client then disappeared and didn't answer phone or emails, rendering the quick work moot.
Plus, I was preparing to fly to Texas for a deposition, getting there at 11 pm and returning to LA at 11 pm the next night.
Plus, I got up at 430 to take my Dad to the hostpial. Nothing serious.
So I go to court to cover two hearings and am parking and in a seriously bad mood.
The Princess Lot — so called because it is closest to the courthouse and most expensive — was full. So I drive down to the lot across the street from Olvera Street, where I used to park when I was a fed.
I drive in and there is a line of cars. I can't see why. There are plenty of spaces on the other end of the lot.
I put it in park and get out of the car to see what is going on.
Let me repeat that perhaps a third of the lot is wide open.
The reason that there are six cars in a line is because the guy in the lead car — a ginormous Navigator — apparently doesn't want to pull forward and drive to one of those many spaces about 40 feet away. No, he's waiting near a group of people talking near a car, people who may or may not be driving away soon and clearing a nearer space.
In other words, he's making six cars wait, despite clearly visible parking spaces, so he can park about 40 paces closer to where he is going.
This is the park where I freak out.
Like I said, I was already in a bad mood.
I saw red. No, really. It was like everything went reddish.
I heard blood rushing in my ears.
I felt a huge kick of adrenaline.
My breath felt hot, like that feeling after they give you a shot to knock you out before surgery.
And I stalk over, past the other cars, towards the Navigator.
Now, let me suggest what a very bad idea this is. Downtown Los Angeles is not safe. The Olvera Street area is not safe. Approaching strangers in penis-substitute cars is not safe. I am not armed. I am not imposing, unless you find flexible-waistband blue suits imposing.
I arrive near the driver's side of the Navigator. The driver is sitting there, window down, staring at the people standing near their car, apparently oblivious to the six cars behind him. The arm sticking out of the window has many, many tattoos. And not of rainbows or ponies or anything.
I get about 10 feet away. And I say
And I wave my arms in the direction of the empty parking spaces.
The guy, who apparently didn't see me coming, jumps like someone suddenly and unexpectedly checked his prostate. He stares at me, looks to the right at the open spaces, looks out at all the cars behind him, and with a mighty VROOOOM peels out towards the empty side of the lot. He does this so fast and recklessly that one of the standing people — who have still not gotten into their car — jumps out of the way.
I stand there for a minute. Then I walk back to my car. The people in the other cars are looking at me, appreciative but extremely cautious, the way you would look at a big unfamiliar dog that had just chased the skunk out of your yard.
I got back into my car. The roaring in the ears had stopped and the adrenaline was gone and my hands were sort of shaking as I contemplated what an extremely bad idea that was. And wondered where I was going to park now. Not, I hoped, next to the Navigator. Fortunately, by the time I pulled into a space, the Navigator and tattoo man were nowhere to be seen.
This wasn't supposed to happen after I switched to decaf.
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