Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Don’t Slam The Door
You know how people can get on your nerves in such a way that you could hit them in the head with a heavy piece of wood? It so happened that I was loading about a tonne-and-a-half worth of hardboard panels in my car past Saturday. I’m making a closet you see, in the bedroom. It’s a rather big closet, or make that a huge closet: it’s going to take up most of one wall in our new bedroom.
Anyway, I had dragged all of it in one go to the parking lot, thanks to a special cart with the size, weight and manoeuvrability of an aircraft carrier. It was bloody annoying, I constantly had to chase away F-18 fighters and Sea King helicopters. Anyway, I finally made it to the car, denting only a single vehicle on my way, and started to haul everything in the trunk when this annoying couple passed. Their little car was parked next to mine, and they had bought a solid oak door.
Apparently, she had pushed him into buying the door, which was obviously too big for their little car’s little trunk. And he was complaining – nay, he was whining like a small child that didn’t get an ice-cream because we’re going to eat in a few minutes and you’re going to spoil your appetite. Man, that guy was annoying. Over and over again he repeated how he had warned her that this would happen and that the door wouldn’t fit in their little car and that it was all her fault. ‘Get a grip man, just leave your trunk open and fix it with some rope’, I thought. That’s what he started to do (did I mention my psychic powers?) but not without making great dramas about the possible risks. ‘Look at that, if I have to break suddenly it’ll decapitate you. But it won’t be my fault, you know, because I told you so. They won’t be able to hold me responsible…’
And on and on it went. I couldn’t flee, because I had to arrange my own pile of wood carefully in the car. I also had some large pieces sticking out of the back, but I secured them with some rope – I had enough left to hang him on the nearest tree if I wanted to, but then again I’m unnecessarily civilised. Meanwhile he still hadn’t finished. How many ways are there to put a door into a small car? Open the booth, shove it in, fasten the door with a piece of rope and GET OUT OF MY BLOODY SIGHT, SMELL, HEARING RANGE AND RADAR!!!
‘Oh, this looks great!’, that invertebrate continued. ‘Look at it, are we supposed to drive on the highway like this? I’m sure it’s going to fall out of the back. We’ll be responsible for an accident, we will! There will be a traffic jam for miles and they’ll sue us for causing death and destruction.’
By this time, steam was coming out of my ears. I desperately wanted a piece of paper. To write down my wife’s address and phone number. I wanted to give it to the whiner’s wife and say: ‘Here love, my wife is a solicitor*. She normally doesn’t do divorces, but I’m sure she will make an exception for you.’
But then they finally drove off.
*Lawyer, for those living in more primitive countries