The Revolution Begins On Friday Morning

My company makes its home in an innocuous, two-story office building in downtown Bellevue. Looking from the outside, you'd never know there was a game company in there - unless you got close enough to the windows to witness our frivolity of course.

The upper portion of our building has remained mostly empty for the two and a half years I've been here. About six months ago, some construction project started upstairs. The floors are thin enough that we've been privvy to every hammer, drill, and loud noise they could possibly make (I even managed to identify a tile saw one day). This was all in preperation for a Real Estate agency moving in upstairs. Gamers. Real Estate Agents. This could get interesting.

So this morning, I drove into my office parking lot and taking up my normal parking space was a gigantic Ford pickup truck. This is one of those extended cab models with a bed big enough to land helicopters, that get 13 miles to the gallon if they extend the solar sail. It wasn't just taking up my parking space, it was taking up the parking space next to it as well. And it was parked so poorly that it stuck out so far into the regular lane that I could barely get around it in my little Galant. I checked; the front end was a good three feet from the end of the parking spot.

If that isn't the pinnacle of American arrogant consumer egoism, at least it's the symbol of it.

So I left a note on the windsheild: IF YOU'RE GOING TO SUPPORT OSAMA WITH YOUR TRUCK, AT LEAST LEARN TO PARK IT.

Update: It belonged to a woman who drove off after reading the note and scowling.

She didn't learn her lesson and abandon her vehicle in favor of a hybrid? Damn. The Revolution is flawed!