Mean Girls

Well...just one mean girl. Me.

I was over at Sarah's house until pretty late last night (meaning I was there until 9:30...which is really late for me OKAY?) so instead of having her drive me home, I just took her car and then went to pick her up before work this morning.

Sarah lives in a really cute house over in the Old North End of Colorado Springs. The house shares a driveway with the next door neighbors, which wouldn't be a big deal except that the neighbors are having the concrete redone on their side of the driveway. I parked on Sarah's side, waved a friendly hello to the construction workers, and went inside to wait for Sarah to finish getting ready.

About fifteen minutes later, Sarah's doorbell rang. Rachel (Sarah's roomie who I LOVE*) answered the door and then came and told us that the construction guys wanted us to move our car** so they could get the cement truck in. For reasons I can't explain, this really annoyed me, but I brushed it off because I knew we were going to be leaving in like five minutes so I was sure it wouldn't be a problem.

Turns out it was a problem, because about thirty seconds later I could hear the mechanical exhale of a cement truck attempting to squeeze it's churning abdomen into Sarah's driveway, blocking us in and instantly advancing my mood from mildly annoyed to full-on RAGING PISSED.

I grabbed my keys, marched outside, stood in front of Sarah's car with my arms crossed and stared the meanest, most intense you-are-so-inconveniencing-me-right-now stare I've ever stared straight at the truck driver. The head construction guy took one look at me and then started scrambling to get the truck driver to back up and GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY because I suspect he could tell I was about a second away from getting in the car and just ramming the tar out of everything in sight. (Sarah drives a Ford Focus, why do you ask?)

My rage began to ebb as we drove away, and, as per usual in situations like these, it was replaced with a good deal of guilt and remorse. Those poor guys were just trying to do their job, not to mention the fact that I DON'T EVEN LIVE THERE so it was really none of my business in the first place.

So I guess the moral of this story is this: Acting like a crazy bee might get you what you want in the moment, but in the end it will make you feel like ess.

Also Santa's not real, Two and a Half Men is still the number one show on television, and Diet Dr. Pepper doesn't taste anything like regular Dr. Pepper.

THE END

*The fact that I love her doesn't really have anything to do with this story but it's true so I thought I'd just throw it in there.
**It's just Sarah's car, but I like to think of it as "our" car because it makes me feel like less of a mooch.