Singled Out: The Phantom Jeep
Entertainment publicist Mona Elyafi has got a bone to pick with the phantom parker in her parking spot. It's a Jeep after all, so you'd think she'd hope for a gorgeous, sporty lesbian to slink right up and claim it.
While I am very aware that I live in Hollywood -- a state of mind existing mostly in the imagination of those who promote the dream and those who dream the dream, I know for certain that what I have recently witnessed is nothing of fabrication or surreal.
It is safe to say that there are indications of some paranormal activities in my neck of the woods - more specifically within the residential region of my allocated parking spot in my building complex.
Now I know Halloween is around the corner and I should be receptive to all things spooky and freaky, but I thought I made it clear last year that I absolutely detest this silly annual ritualistic "trick or treat" celebration and refuse to embrace the spirit of this holiday. And you can thank Jack in the Box for that (aka one of my ex-girlfriends) who a few years ago impressively managed to ruin the festivities scaring me for life. Really, Cruella DeVille would have been a more suited costume for Jack'ass in the Box!
Anyway, a few days ago, somewhere around the break of day, as I was driving back from the gym, I had the unpleasant surprise to find a Jeep Wrangler parked in my parking spot. Now I should tell you that my garage can host two cars provided the vehicle taking the lead pulls all the way inside the structure.
Strangely, it just so happened that the unidentified owner of the mysterious Jeep, somehow, was courteous enough to be considerate of the two-in-one parking spot deluxe feature.
What this meant was that I was indeed able to park behind it without protruding onto the sidewalk and chancing being issued a parking infraction ticket. Yet because I am possessively attached to my property, I immediately decreed that this constituted a major inconvenience, not to mention an invasion of my personal space. Evidently, I automatically mentally declared war.
Frankly, what really bothered me was the audacity of the owner to take the liberty to park in my spot without prior consultation for my approval. I mean doesn't he/she knows who the fuck I am? I was fuming with anger. At that exact moment, in order to attenuate the aggravation, I made the executive vindictive decision to show bozo that he/she was fucking with the wrong person and would soon come to bitterly regret this major parking faux-pas. Please do not misconstrue my agitated disposition as obsessive compulsive behavior, this was purely motivated by my committed "due observance of justice."
Naturally, I promptly put my diabolical brain to work and concocted a brilliant plan of action to accordingly be compensated and rightfully avenged!
I know you're probably thinking that I should really get a life, but mind you, I do have one and clearly it's the only thing that's mine - well that and my parking spot too!
Since my car was now blocking the Wrangler, I decided that I would go about my daily routine -- working from home -- and patiently wait for the owner to come knock at my door.
I figured the bastard would eventually show his/her face to ask me to move my car to be able to leave. With that in mind, I proceeded to meticulously rehearse in my head this extraordinarily fantastic, highly eloquent, super bitchy lecture seasoned with a dash of sarcasm and spicy patronizing flavors. I know I seem to have too much time in my hands, but honestly, the speech was so devilishly good that I was euphorically jubilating in anticipation of its magnificent delivery.
Basically, I was going to be an obnoxiously royal asshole and when confronted face to face with the Jeep owner would take immense pleasure in informing him/her with my oh-so-natural smartass demeanor that I was not yet ready to step out of my home office and wouldn't probably be ready to move until 7 pm.
Now, I did contemplate towing the car to simply get rid of the problem pronto but later determined that I would reap bigger therapeutic rewards in giving him/her a taste of his/her own medicine.
I was dying to see the face of the owner caught in flagrante delicto and enduring the same insufferable amount of frustration, exasperation and aggravation as I. And because I knew I was unequivocally right, I also knew there would be absolutely nothing he/she could legally do to force me to move my car at his/her leisure. That's right! I was in the driver seat and had total power.
And so I unwearyingly waited with this permanent silly victorious grin on my face that confidently said "I'm gonna show you who will have the last laugh!"
The endless sound of the "tic... toc ... tic... toc" from the clock on my office wall continuously counting down the hours as they were steadily elapsing (with still no knock at my door) suddenly became irritating. Helloooo! War was declared at 8:00 o'clock in the morning and it was now already 1pm! For God's sake, where the hell was that bozo?
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Seriously, who does that? Who in their right mind thinks it is perfectly normal behavior to randomly park their car on someone else's property all day?
When the clock struck 1400, I had a serious problem. My aqua therapy class was starting in half an hour and evidently I was compelled to leave the scene of the crime - hmm, not so fast!
Obviously, because I'm never one to quit so easily, I did what any other normal person would do: I called my super sexy therapist to have her pick me up. At that stage, I had invested way too much effort in this nerve-wrecking retaliation enterprise to give the owner of the Wrangler a window of opportunity to depart without any repercussions. I just couldn't bring myself to let him/her get away with this shit sans enforcing my sanction.
Admittedly, it gave me additional joy to know that while I would be MIA for a couple of hours that fool would be waiting for my return, experiencing what I was praying to be feelings of escalating anger and infuriation.
But alas, when my super sexy therapist dropped me back at home around 4 pm, the situation was unfailing. No one was waiting by the Jeep or at my door.
Keeping my holy faith in the gods of parking Justice, and for my own serenity, I resumed work seemingly unfazed.
By 4:05 pm, something unexpected occurred: I psychotically lost it. Somehow I couldn't quiet down this whole internal turret-syndrome like conversation I was having with my invisible offender and my rage catapulted to new demented proportions.
Clearly I had to put an end to the charade - either I was losing my mind or losing the car.
So I called the towing company. Within minutes the four-wheel drive was vacated from the premise and I was now once again viciously salivating at the happy visual thought of having to break the bad news to bozo when he/she would surely come to inquire about the sudden disappearance of the car. I even had the entire scenario written down: I would simply hand out a piece of paper with the towing company's phone # and would then slam the door shut to his/her face -- soap opera style!
And guess what? As I'm writing this column, 72 hours later, the piece of paper - that crucial key to the end of my agonizing emotional distress -- is still sitting on my desk provocatively staring me in the face. And you know what else? Just like that, the damned Jeep had mysteriously resurfaced! How, when and why, I had no freaking clue!
As far as I'm concerned, Casper is the asshole who owns the Jeep.
Read more of Mona's Singled Out.