Ehren: Parking Garage Vigilante

My office parking garage is officially on my shit list, joining such illustrious members as:

• My Space
• Paris Hilton
• Crabs
• Oil (the kind you put in your car, not the kind you rub on strippers)
• The rap music
• Men who wear body glitter
• Pants

The reasons for adding my garage are numerous. First, it reeks of urine. I don’t mean that it has a vaguely piss-tinged aroma, I mean if you breathe through your mouth you'll taste it for the next 20 minutes of your life. 5,000 bums, subsiding on nothing but asparagus, must be pissing in round-the-clock shifts to maintain that sort of scent saturation. I expect an outbreak of Botulism or the Hanta Virus any day now.

Next, because I rank somewhere between rancid milk and a fungal outbreak in importance to my company, I do not have a designated parking space. Instead, I’m left to fend for myself in a world of rich people who have no idea about common decency or basic physics. Allow me to explain.

Because I am retarded, I can only park in certain spots of the garage or I will literally spend 40 minutes wandering the urine doused caves, looking for my car. Don’t laugh, it’s happened before. My parking garage has "half floors," (2 1/2, 3 1/2, etc.) and not all the stairs or elevators go to every floor. This means that I am constantly fighting to get a spot in the “compact only” spaces directly across from the exit. Now, I drive an accord. Like all things Japanese, it’s a compact. Which is a nice way of saying, “Tiny enough to make a Jew laugh.” The douche bags in my building however, have absolutely no qualms about parking Escalades and Range Rovers in the compact spaces.

This is where a fundamental knowledge of physics comes into play. A compact space is roughly four feet wide. An Escalade is, conservatively, about 6,982 feet wide. You don't need a degree in astrophysics to work out a formula for parking. It goes something like this: move your over-privelidged ass down the line, P-Diddy. When you decide to come to grips with your whiteness and buy a real car, you can park in a compact spot. Until then, shut the fuck up, resume sucking Big Oil's taint and take one of the full size spaces.

How big a dick do you have to be to take up three spots with hideous fucking ride? We get it: you’re insecure about your penis size. Maybe you could start taking the handicap spaces too.

So today, after finding a Hummer occupying four spots, I began wondering: is there any reason I couldn’t just start cracking windshields? I mean, from the overpowering urine stench, I’m betting that the “security” is far from thorough. In fact, I may need to bring my own brand of vigilante justice to the garage, in the form of ten pounds of sugar, a key, and a sack of potatoes.

I know what you’re all thinking: why the fuck don’t you just get up earlier so you can get the good spaces before the rich douche bags do? Answer: What do I look like? Someone capable of rational planning and thought?

No, but because I don’t really want to be brought up on vandalism charges...again...I’m thinking that the REAL solution to this problem is to head down to Kinko’s and make a sign that reads: “Reserved for Ehren, Head of Grenade Launcher Development” then place it in the parking space closest to the door. I’d love to see the asshole that “accidentally” parks in that spot.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to wander around my parking garage until 10 o’clock tonight, in the vain hopes of stumbling across my car.