MY Space

I’ve mentioned before that my apartment has some noise issues. I even received a warning about it … just after I moved in. But I reckon I’ve mostly adjusted to those things, as I’ve signed a lease to stay for another year. I still don’t like the noise problems at all, but I deal with it. My apartment’s not all bad, though. I generally like it. The layout is good, and there’s not enough living or storage space for me to go into a real crap-accumulation cycle like I did at the spacious rented house I lived in for 6 years, resulting in some serious frustration on my part when moving out and maybe even some back strains for the garbage men. One of my favorite things about the place is that I have a reserved parking spot in the garage. I really like the idea of not having to scrape windows or brush snow off the car or deal with rain on the way out. It’s nice. Now, it’s not perfect. The garage is under the building, and it’s huge, but there are no doors on it. The lack of doors is kind of nice when you’re trying to get in and out, as you don’t have to wait for security doors to go up and down, there’s no chance that you’ll be trapped in or locked out when the opener breaks, etc. However, the lack of doors also means things can come in. Like birds. There are about a dozen or so birds that have flown in and made nests in the false ceiling of the garage. Yes. It has a false ceiling. Why, you ask? I don’t know. Maybe it’s so they can make it look nicer and not show wires or pipes running along a bare concrete ceiling. Maybe it’s so they can nicely flush-mount the sprinkler heads rather than have them sitting in the open air. Maybe it’s to give the birds a place to make nests.

Naturally, those birds don’t make nests just anywhere. They make them within 30 feet of my car. On nest is only one spot away from my parking space. As a result, while having a garage spot does spare me abuse from the elements as I approach my car, it does not in any way protect my car from getting nailed with prodigious amounts of bird shit. In fact, I am often astounded by the amount of bird shit on my car. The Girl thinks they’ve heard me talking about how unwelcome they are and are just sort of flipping me the bird, so to speak. The nest nearest my car even had babies in it for a while, which might be cute if it were outside my living room window, but it nothing of the sort when it increases the amount of droppings on my vehicle. So it’s a dirty, shit-splattered parking space. But it’s my dirty, shit-splattered parking space. It’s comfy, and it’s convenient.

The other night I came home from softball feeling triumphant but exhausted after two big wins for the team. I was a bit sore after arriving at the field too late to adequately warm up or stretch (a bigger no-no for me as I seem to continue to get older and less limber all the time), and I was very much looking forward to a nice shower. As I pulled into my garage and prepared to back into my parking space, I noticed a problem: there was a silver Toyota Camry parked there. I said something not very nice and got out to take a closer look. That closer looked confirmed that there was indeed another car parked in my parking space. (I know it seems like an unnecessary step, but I was hoping it was a mirage.) At that hour all four of my complex’s visitor spots were full, and I had to park on the street about a block and a half away. As you might imagine the uphill walk to my apartment gave me just enough time to get really steamed, and I called to have that Camry towed. I considered just letting it go. I mean, once the car was towed out, I wasn’t going to walk the block and half back to my car so I could move it to my space. So what really would be the point in towing the car? I decided that was crap. The point is that the parking space clearly says “RESERVED,” and I was cranky. So I towed the ass out of that car, and I later took no small amount of satisfaction in watching the process. I even took some pics to commemorate the occasion. Here is a picture of my parking space, restored to its natural, non-stolen state:



Notice the (partially cut-off but still legible) “RESERVED” at the bottom, there. It might as well say, “STAY THE HELL OUT!” But wait, what’s that white rectangle in there?



I couldn’t help myself. I left a note. Was that mean? Vindictive? Asshole-ish? Perhaps it was. But you could argue that it was nice to tell the driver that his car hadn’t been stolen. Besides, you should be proud of me. I resisted adding “Have a nice day.”