The Unwritten Code

Last Sunday, everyone in my townhouse village was digging out from under nearly two feet of snow. This included their cars.

Of course, two hours of breaking your back like that, is enough to make a man want to preserve the fruit of his labor. The result was, as each space was cleared and a car left its space, it was replaced by a stool, a lounge chair, or whatever could be found to send the necessary message. Imagine a guy pulling into a recently vacated Space A. Then the guy who cleared Space A will be compelled to appropriate Space B. The family who once had Space B will steal Space C. Before long, there will be total mayhem, as the entire social order of the neighborhood will have broken down.

Or a snowball fight. Things could get ugly. (See previous entry.)

I decided not to be caught offguard, so I converted a collapsible wheeled cart for my purposes. “I spent two hours clearing snow from this space. Take it, and I'll put it back, player!” (Go ahead, click on it. You know you want to.) Tonight we have to go out to Fairfax County to give some things to Sal's brother before he departs for the auld sod.

In the meantime, I trust I have made my point abundantly clear, and if some yuppie dipstick takes my space, he or she will get to read all about it right here.

Ain't I a stinker?
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