Yes,I am that girl who parks too close to the Nissan Sunny because I am too afraid to park closer to the Range Rover. You see my logic is that the overly scratched Sunny won't mind one more scratch from a scared female. I mean how would he even start proving that the scratch was specifically from me. Never. However the older, much better maintained Range Rover hasn't a scratch on it. Looks like it came straight from its daily spraying and waxing right into this parking space. Even dust is scared of causing unnecessary damage. Given a choice, I would have looked for another parking. But at this hour, it would be highly unlikely that another parking space would be miraculously empty. So I squeeze as close to the banged up cheaper car as possible. So close infact that a full grown duet can comfortably park between me and this monster of a car.
Anyway, let the duet park there. As long as it doesn't scratch me trying to avoid the mountain of a car. My next dilemma is how to get out of the car. Thank the heavens that I am by myself so I can shimmy to the passenger seat. No I lie, shimming is for girls who care about their image. Right now I'm too excited to have missed the Range Rover to care too much about who sees me struggling to get out through the wrong door. It is my car, and I'll inconvenience myself if I want to.
I pour out of the car unceremoniously and quickly compose myself. It is quite fine when the world sees me attempt ridiculous fêtes in the privacy of my own car. But I am now in public. I have a reputation to pretend to care about. I look at the amount of space between me and the Range. I can feel it sneer at me. Perfectly set in between its lines. Unafraid and unashamed. Glimmering in the light of the afternoon in all its glory. I throw my hair back and pretended to not care. Especially about the driver of the Sunny who might have to do a dance and a little acrobatics to get into his car. I surely hope he is more flexible than me. It would really help with his departure. Either that or soon I'll be hearing. "The owner of K-such and such please come and unsqueeze the grey Sunny. You are violating its personal space" over the mall's PA system. This is Africa. We do not regard personal space as sacred or even a kind of space. I swear at the random rules brought in by colonial powers. The shame.
Now I face my next dilemma. I was seriously hoping the owner of the monstrosity would save me the trouble by going home while I ran my errands. Damn! Now back to the process. Into the passenger side, shimmy, bend, stretch, awkward bend towards the driver's seat. All the while the other cars around us and maybe a watchman laugh at my struggles. I take a deep breath. Now I am way too close to the Sunny to reverse. Who made me believe that this was a good idea? The voice in my head shall go to trial as soon as I get home. ICC mambo yote. Yes, that it shall. It is just a miracle that my side mirrors don't touch the taunting Sunny when they open up.
I start on my new struggle with one heart. Getting out. I straighten my tires like I was taught in driving school. I put the gear on reverse. I check both sides. Once towards the Sunny. 100 times towards the Range Rover. Logic states that if you got in safely, you will get out safely. But logic will quickly lose this battle with me. Very quickly. I ease out. Very straight. No turning of tires, no quick and rushed dashes. None of the usual nonsense. I even check infront like my bonnet would suddenly run off and hit the car parked right across from me. Take no chances. I go straight back for what seemed like 25 minutes. Until I am sure I am clear from hitting either of the cars. My heart does a victory dance. Hehehehe. Have that.
As I look around proudly, I realise I have placed myself in a whole new situation. I can't turn so that I can leave. I am stuck right across the the road, facing the wrong direction. Yep. That's just the kind of girl I am. hihihi! I smile.