That's my car, Lady Penelope, on the right (I'd dubbed her "Barbie" before I got her, 'cause she's a gold Malibu, which reminded me of my Malibu Barbie ... get it? Didn't feel right as a name once I got her, though). I couldn't even get in to open it up and put my gym bag in the back seat. I was so fucking pissed. I had to climb across from the passenger side.
Now, maybe it wasn't fully this dickface's fault. This is the car on the other side of the fuckstick who made me get in the passenger side:
Dickface Fuckstick Cheesehead left plenty of room for him or herself to get out, which led to the situation that left me irate. You could have just left that space open. I honestly was unsure if I could get out without hitting that car. I had to check to make sure that douchenozzle didn't hit my car on the way into the spot. But no, this asshat had to park in a prime spot because he or she is probably a lazy fuck. I almost didn't park there because I have this weird thing about wanting to be parked so I'm on the way out of wherever I am. So at the Calhoun Square ramp, I like to park on the third floor so I don't have to go up any more to get out. I often like to park on the far side of the third floor, so I'm already pointing down. I'm weird, I know. But it was so early today and the ramp was so empty, I figured "Why not?" And I paid for that.
Before I crawled across from the passenger side, I wrote a note and stuck it under that fuckface's windshield (it says, "Nice parking job, asshole). I also may have opened my door really hard when I got into the driver's seat. I'm not sure I even left a mark, though. Poop.