DeepKickGirl aint one to hold back when it comes to an angry rant (and I mean that with the very deepest respect, from the heart of my bottom) and her latest is one that we can all identify with. Gym Gonads.
In DKG's case, these are the selfish gits who take up 'ten minutes only' parking zones out in front of the next door childcare centre for over an hour in order to make their necks fatter than their heads whilst preening in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors in a sweat-soaked, 'roid-rogering orgy of time wasting.
Frazzled and time-poor working parents and carers simply want to rush in, collect their little under-age treasures and get the hell out of there. They only need a brief Stop, Dash In and Drop Off zone before moving on to the next item on their 'to do today' list.
DeepKickGirl saw another frustrated mother, waiting for a spot to park only to have a couple of muscled meat-heads pull in ahead of her and enter the gym for what she assumed would be for at least an hour. In a spot clearly marked 'childcare centre park - ten minutes only.' An angry discussion ensued and the mother was insulted and sworn at - in front of her toddler - and eventually had to leave to find a park much farther away.
Must we give in and instead force ourselves to behave as piggishly and as badly as the Gym Gonads, or should we heed our grandmothers' advice and continue to live courteously and considerately? My own mantra - whispered fiercely to myself on far more occasions than I'd like to admit to - is to live well. Living well is the best revenge, as the wise (and often the senile or very drunk) enjoy telling us.
Or mostly. For social suckheads such as the Gym Gonads, there is the luxury of time.... lots of it and opportunities...... You know that the Gym Gonads are inside trying to emulate the famous 'condom full of walnuts' look that Clive James ascribed to Arnold Schwarnegger in the eighties, and that takes at least an hour or two. One hour for the actual weight lifting, and another for the posing, flexing, mirror-gazing, self-congratulation and crotch scratching that goes on between sets. Or 'reps' or whatever it is that they do with their pecs.
So, if you're a mother driving a kid-friendly station-wagon or people mover, it is likely that there'll be a stray banana, caterpillar-made-from-an-alfoil-roll or cricket stump handy; rolling on the floor under the front seats, hidden underneath used tissues, empty freddo frog wrappers and finger paintings John West rejected. They all make ideal exhaust pipe stuffers.
For those of you that have managed to find a carpark and are brave enough to leave your cars, there's the good old car key scratched along the sides of their turbo-twat-mobile or even a hastily hammered nail in the front tyre. And don't ever forget the raw prawn slipped into the windscreen wiper grille.....
DeepKickGirl is, amongst many other things, a budding scriptwriter. Living in Sydney. It is therefore almost a dead certainty that she'll know a few out-of-work actors who could pose as a humorless parking inspector directly out in front of the gym and childcare centre. That'll get a gaggle of Gym Gonads out of their comfort zone faster than a well-oiled AFL player from an opponent's squirrel grip in the goal square.
Alternatively, she could get some stickers printed and when they're inside unleashing their lactic acid she could slap a sticker on the back of their cars. It'll be ages before they'd notice it, and in the meantime they'll be read and laughed at by quite a few childcare customers and drivers idling behind them at the traffic lights.
One day I'll find the spare cash to print out sheets of tiny stickers that I'll be able to whip out from my backpack in various annoying circumstances and slap on the back of offending vehicles. Here's a few that readily spring to mind:
- Parking rules are for everyone else except me.
- I am a mono-synaptic, poly-cretinous half-wit who can't read parking signs.
- I have more money than sense which is why I'm begging for a parking fine.
- I have the sophistication and intelligence of a rain soaked budgie smuggler
- I am a virgin with halitosis, and destined to remain so
- I have lots of money and have spent it on this car instead of donating it to a worthy cause
- This 4WD has never been off-road and is never likely to
- I voted for John Howard
To let you know that my actions speak louder than my words, I really let a bloke have it today. OKaaaay, so he was only ten years old and attends Sapphire's school, but the little ape was trying over and over again to fling a swing up and over the top of the support bar, thus making it useless.
I strode over the bark chips (which is quite difficult to do when you're in a fast-paced huff, holding a viola case, two terms' worth of school books and a fruit platter) and snatched the swing from his hands.
"Get out of here before I call the principal. Oh and I'm a TEACHER in case you didn't know."
Yes, I was a teacher. Once. Back in 1993, and certainly not at his school; but for all he knew I was an undercover educational agent prone to turning green if made particularly angry.
For the first time in ages, Sapphire looked impressed instead of embarrassed.
Bugger it; maybe I should find a local printer who'd be interested in putting together my sticker idea.