I love the holidays, Christmas most of all. I adore the decorations and the music and the sales. (Especially the sales...)
What I don't love are the parking lots--full of competitive people jockeying to get the closest space so they don't have to walk an extra hundred feet. And the pedestrians--arms loaded down with packages so that they can't see where they're going and then throw in the additional distraction of hyper children tweaked up on sugar and adrenaline. It's a recipe for disaster.
Parking Sharks are in their natural element this time of the year. The other day a Parking Shark leaned out her window and yelled at me because I was walking in a cross walk (too slow, I suppose) while holding the hand of my two-year-old, trying to shepherd her to safety.
"Watch where you're walking!" she shouted.
"Hit me and I'll own your ass, bitch! Bodily injury liability on a minor doesn't end until until two years AFTER they turn eighteen!"
(Mrs. Snark used to work in insurance.)
Parking Sharks are those people who are willing hold up ten cars behind them on an aisle because a little old lady with a walker is inching her way along the row. You know the sort. No one else's convenience or time matters but their own.
The pedestrian may not even have a car parked on that aisle and is still in the process of locating their vehicle, but this parking shark will spot a likely target leaving a store, 500 feet away, and hit the brakes to wait. On the chance that the pedestrian happens to pass them, then the Parking Shark will throw their vehicle into reverse and attempt to back up rather than allow their prey to escape.
I don't believe in the death penalty, but for Parking Sharks, I'm willing to make an exception.
In high school, I had friends who used to troll Parking Sharks for the hell of it. (Never me, of course.)
The objective was to leave a store holding a set of car keys and head down an aisle until the dun-dun dun-dun dunnnn music began, alerting one to the attachment of a Parking Shark. The bait walked slowly down the aisle, shuffling his feet until the end of the aisle had been reached. Then he darted to the side and ran like a madman, leaving the trolled Parking Shark far behind.
Ahh, Merry Christmas, Mrs. Parking Shark.