Guilty Pleasures, Part 2.

Yes. In the words of a certain pathetic Irish comedian, 'There's more'.

I find that there is much enjoyment to be had from gazumping people in busy car parks. Gazumping men in busy car parks particularly. I know I know, it's not big and it's not clever. I know it's rude. But it is hugely satisfying in a warped kind of way, and I can't seem to help myself. It's not an entirely arbitrary thing. I'm not totally lacking in scruples you know. Certain peeves render me far more likely to decide that nicking the parking space from right under someones wheels is completely called for. These include:

1. Me judging them to have a poncy car. You know, the kind with two exhausts, and go faster stripes. And those funny things on their tyres. Why?
2. Them having their stereo on so loud that other people are forced to share in their musical choices. What their musical choices happen to be can take them to a whole new level of deservedness. Any hint of gangsta rap, and that parking space is mine.
3. Someone idling around the mother and baby spaces when they clearly have no kids in their car.
4. Seeing them in a jam/me being in the wrong lane previously, and them not letting me in.
5. E.c.t.

I have even been known to drive in the wrong direction, contrary to the way the arrows are pointing, in order to niftily nip into a parking space that someone else has clearly got their eye on. Much to the mortification of my Eldest Son, who will then slump down in the front seat, with one hand clamped to his forehead in embarrassment.
'Muuuum, that man was waiting to go in that space. Look! He's waving at you!'
At which point I will reinforce the already sterling example I have just set by hissing, 'It's different in car parks. It's dog eat dog. Everyone for themselves.'

I would like to make clear at this point that behaviour such as this is entirely out of character, and (thankfully) exclusive to car parks. I am not a particularly competitive person. I am normally perfectly courteous. I don't jump the queue in shops, I hold doors open for people, and I'm usually right on the money with all my pleases and thank yous. But gazumping men in poncy cars? There's just something about it that works for me on so many different levels.

Freud, no doubt, would have a field day.