85-point turn

Asshats abound.  But, I prevailed and resisted the urge to leave them a little note informing them of their asshattery.

The Old Man is a terrible driver.  I'm sure he was very skilled at one time, but a combination of old age, bad knees, terrible hearing, and over confidence that the paved bit of road is merely a suggestion, few people in the family will ride in a car he drives these days. 

When I was ready to learn how to drive, the Old Woman gave me my first driving lesson and then convinced the Old Man that perhaps it would be better if they left the rest of the lessons to professionals, lest I pick up any of their bad habits.  (Genius suggestion, by the way.)

When the Old Man was younger, his job often required him to drive up rugged, unpaved roads . . . or even places where there was no road.  One of the most terrifying experiences I had with the Old Man came when he decided I needed to see where, exactly, the television towers/fire look out tower that we could see off our deck were actually located.  We drove for a couple of hours up the mountain.  Up a road that had originally been cut out of the side of the mountain 20 years before but never paved, or revisited by maintenance workers since.  It was winding, narrow, and there was a 200,000,000 foot drop off the side of the planet on my side of the truck.  Once we got to the top of the mountain, and could look ahead through the windshield, and see the towers, it was time to go home.  Only, there was no place to turn around. 

The Old Man, cheerfully, explained that all you needed was 6 inches in front and 6 inches in back, and you could turn your car around.  And, then he did it.  I'm pretty sure I screamed the whole time.

Yesterday, while I was at a meeting and parked in a legitimate parking space (the last one on the line, right next to the curb) some asshat decided that rather than use a legitimate space themselves, they would just park next to the curb directly behind my car.

I used the Old Man's 85-point turn, along with much more profanity than he ever used, to get out of my space and drive away . . . never touching their car, even a tiny little bit.  YOU ARE WELCOME, ASSHAT.