I pulled up and waited patiently for the woman to get into her car.
She’d be pulling out any moment now.
Moments later, the SUV about to turn the corner some 50 feet up the road saw the same thing, and decided he had dibs. Zooming back and signaling as if he’d been there the whole time, he got out and gave me the “that’s my damn spot” wave around. I could’ve stayed and argued. But life’s too short and wherever I ended up parking, I needed the exercise.
So I moved along. And found a new spot even closer to my destination. A block or so later, I strode into Starbucks for my afternoon writing session. The corner table in the sun, the one that’s so hard to get awaited. Hearing the door open behind me, I walked toward my chosen spot, which also just happened to be the last available seat in the joint.
As I opened my pack, I glanced up to see the person who’d come in seconds behind me. It was him. Mr. That’s My Spot. Without a chair in sight.
Some days you’re pigeon, others you’re the statue.
And some days it’s the choices and actions that seem totally unrelated that land you in either spot.
Ahhh, the sweet taste of comeupins.
Update – Yep, I know I chose an “alternative” spelling of comeuppance, just liked it better and the Urban Dictionary says that’s just fine by them. Breath in, breath out, it’ll be okay. Freedom of choice FTW!
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