• After It Rains
• I'm Jesse
      • My Birthday?
      • You Remembered!
• Pool? Animal Style!
      • Dumplings w/Neptune
• Sicilian Sculptor
• The Golden Years
• Human Hangers
• Just a Barista
• I Need to Dance
• Can't Stop Looking Up
• Be Careful What...
• The Collection
• Into the Light
• A Perfect Interview
• The Abbey
• Who You Know?
• What's This Life For?
• Unexpected Talent
• Just a Dog's Day
• Chester
• Darren
      • Darren and the Circus
• Voice of God
• Aaron
• 5350

• Resurrection
• Private Dancer
• Eye Contact
• Bullying
• The Surreality of It All
• Sound of Silence
• 31 Days of Christmas
• Giant!
• Fear or Comfort?
• You're Different
• Another One Bites...
• Stroll with the Clouds
• Walking with Banshee

Another One Bites the Dust (05/01/21)

Living in a residential complex has always provided a wealth of entertainment, and confirmation that humans can be the oddest creatures around.

When this complex was built, local zoning laws did not account for the fact that multiple people would live in each unit, so parking was created at a minimum. And because there is nothing within a half-mile of the complex, there is no place to park outside of the complex.

Our unit sits on a corner of the building, wrapped by a large balcony, that allows us to view a huge portion of the parking that is available.

All residents are given parking passes, guest passes, and specifically told not to allow friends and family to park without a permit. Otherwise, they will be towed.

And towed they are.

One of our guilty pleasures is to sit out on the balcony in the early morning, around 2-3 a.m., and watch the local towing company at work. Damn those guys are good. They roll into the complex in stealth mode, after their ‘scout’ has located all the cars that are in violation of parking policies and are to be towed.

With their lights off, and not a sound from their engines, they swoop in behind the vehicle, swing these large tuning fork looking arms behind the the car, lower underneath the car, and with a quick lift, and swing of the arm back out, off the truck goes with the culprit vehicle flying through the air.

Some mornings, they can grab half a dozen cars just in the area of parking that we can see. Sometimes they make multiple trips, staging the vehicles in a parking lot half a mile down the street, where they sit waiting for the flatbeds to arrive and take them to the impound yard.

Understand, getting your car towed and impounded runs around $380, so it's not cheap to not pay attention to the parking rules of the complex.

Early one Saturday morning, we grabbed our coffee and watched the parade of towed vehicles ‘fly’ out of the complex, astounded by the ease and speed of the tow truck drivers, while humming and singing Another One Bites the Dust!

Around 5:30 a.m., we hear a lady screaming “who the f..k are you and what the f..k did you do with my car?” She was yelling at another lady who had just gotten into her car to leave for the morning. It just happened the second lady had parked in an open space where a vehicle had been towed from only a couple hours earlier.

A screaming match ensued, each of the ladies calling the other all sorts of unnecessary names, with neither of the women understanding what the other was saying, or why they were yelling at each other.

Do we get involved? Oh what the Hell! I yelled down that the car in that spot had been towed around 2 a.m. this morning.

Both of the ladies got quiet as they looked up at us on the balcony, and the one whose car was now parked in the spot said she had gotten home around 2:30 a.m. and parked in that available spot.

“Who the f..k towed my car. I need to get to work. My daughter lives here and told me I could park anywhere I wanted to.”

We saw several flaws in the theory and practice of that statement. Not sure we would want to be the ladies daughter at this point.

“I asked you a f..king question! Who the f..k towed my car?”

OK, now you went a little too far. We are just sitting in the theater watching the show, we had nothing to do with your car being towed, and are by no means required to answer your foul mouthed questions.

“Ask your daughter!” We went back indoors, the ranting and raving of this lady echoing through the complex as she stomped back to where she came from, occasionally turning to flip us off and yell a few more profanities in our direction.

I still was trying to figure out what we had done to deserve such treatment. “We’re the messenger!” I was told! Ah yes, that made sense!

A few minutes later the lady with the eloquent language skills was back, apparently with her daughter, still screaming, and wondering why the f..k her car was gone, and saying she was going to file a lawsuit against anybody within ear-shot. Her daughter told her she would take her to work and wait till the management office opened at 10 a.m. to find out where her car was.

Being a glutton for punishment, I stepped back out onto the balcony and told the daughter that the management office had just emailed the phone number of the towing company out to all residents the day before. She said she had no knowledge of that, so I gave her the number, and received a meek “thank you” from her.

I’m thinking the daughter got her manners and mastery of the language from her father.

As we walked back in from the balcony, we could hear the mother still ranting and tossing the f..k word out about every fourth word.

We would have loved to have been on the call with the towing company!!

Musical reference: Another One Bites the Dust, Queen