An Open Letter to The Man Who Played Bumper Cars With My Car Without Permission

Dear Sir,

Perhaps you enjoyed bumper cars as a kid at the fair, but take heed my friend....not all cars are bumper cars and while first appearences may lead you to believe otherwise, Brooklyn is not some carnival circus with free rides. I did not enjoy sitting on the playground and alternating my attention between watching my son and watching you repeatedly bump my car in your sad attempt to fit a giant purple Mercury minivan into a small space previously occupied by a Mini Cooper. I'm pretty sure the Malibu you also repeatedly bumped did not appreciate it either.

Don't get me wrong...I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first. I remained calm. I said to my friend, "Hey....so is it just me or is that guy an idiot for thinking he's going to fit that giant Barney the Dinosaur of a minivan into that small space?". After careful deliberation (and watching you exit your vehicle to give the scene a once over before continuing your plight), we decided that you were indeed an idiot and that someone should probably stop you before you broke something. That someone would be moi--an annoyed, sweaty pregnant woman in an unattractive outfit at the park.

I was in no mood for my Nice Nasty....people in Brooklyn don't get that style of confrontation....so away I go pointing my finger like I meant business. It wasn't the middle finger, which may have confused you as that is the standard operating procedure for Brooklyn confrontation, but it was my Finger of Authority. Just ask my two year old about its importance if you have doubts. The look on your face very much resembled the look on my son's face when he's caught acting like a turd and it proved to me that you knew exactly what was up, although I appreciate the innocent Brooklyn Shrug you gave me followed by, 'Is that your car, miss?'. No you idiot. That's not my car. I just have a passion for 2004 Honda Accords. I'm just a big ball of pregnant vigiliante walking the streets looking for vehicle injustice when it's 90 degrees outside. Of course it's my car!

After much discussion, most of which was me repeating, "You cannot park here! Why would you even try this?", and blank stares on your end, you finally decided to take my advice. Unfortunately you had wedged yourself awkwardly inbetween my car and the next and were pretty much stuck. Meanwhile, my child is running around on a playground shared by gang members, junkies, and happy toddlers. Fortunately a trusted friend was watching him, but still. My priority was getting back to the playground. Unfortunately, your idiocy required me to move my car, risking yet another parking ticket (and trust me, they know my plate number by heart!) so that your hideous purple minivan could squeeeeeze in just a little bit more.

I wonder had I not shown up to inform you of your stupidity, what you would have done? I can only imagine that you would have left your beast parked halfway between the curb and the street. And you, my friend, are a prime example of why people from New Jersey/New York should just not operate motor vehicles.

Although my car isn't exactly a shiney BMW, it's my ride, damn it. So how's about showing some respect? I will respect your Barney Car (though I will NOT sing the song), and I ask that you show the same respect for my humble Honda. You're lucky my main ride had a flat tire. Had you hit the non-ghetto tricked-out Highlander, we'd have had a much different conversation.

Double hugs, double park if you have to just don't be dumb like that again,
L.