The Follow-Up Garage Post

If you haven't already, read this post first.

I can't quite decide which makes me more upset: the fact that I have once again underestimated Guy's ability to be a complete and utter tool or the fact that I now have minor car damage thanks to his latest move. I probably brought it on myself for mocking him and discussing my anticipation of what moronic thing he'd come up with next. Well, he sure showed me.

Let's back up to Tuesday evening. The impending "snowpocalypse" that everyone was freaking out about arrived with a resounding "psych!" I will sum up what actually happened: pathetic little rain shower followed by a few hours of snow, which immediately melted. Then everybody collectively agreed to drive like a bunch of idiots.

We arrived home on Tuesday evening in a great mood after enjoying an all-you-can-eat meat buffet with some friends. I realize how that sounds, but I am purposely leaving that sentence in because it was a real thing and not some metaphor for an inappropriate activity. As we pulled into the garage, we noticed that Guy has miraculously fit his car into his garage spot and even got the garage door on their side to close! We were stunned and slightly impressed, and excited to get out and inspect his work. Then there was a loud crunching sound. BF says, "Stop the car!" We get out and look to see what it is that I have run over and it all becomes clear. Guy has made his car fit into the garage by taking their gazelle/elliptical workout machine and placing it into our parking space. I think he was trying to place it in the center aisle that separates our two spaces, but because there is already so much of their crap there, it didn't quite fit and jutted into our space.


You've already seen the front and side view, why not a birds-eye view too?

Notice how that center aisle is overtaken with all of their shit. And notice that small little part that we claimed for ourselves. That was precisely where he thought his exercise machine would fit! On top of our stuff! So when I rolled in, I ran over the handlebars and the electronic screen and smashed it. I admit it. I didn't really feel all that bad. The BF readjusted the machine (with the same gentleness and care that you might see in an angry bear) so that it was at least out of my parking spot, but still totes invading onto our side. I should also note that Guy had to pull in so far in order to shut the garage door that he had literally pinned their uncovered and stained queen-sized mattress against the wall with his bumper. Why they even bother to keep that nasty thing is a mystery to me. If he just threw it away, wouldn't that solve all of his problems? If you are sitting there thoroughly impressed with this display of brilliance and logic, then you'll really be amazed to learn that Genius then left the light on in his car. For all his rudeness, I thought at least I can take a small satisfaction in knowing that there was a chance his car battery would be dead come morning. But no, BF had to be all noble and moral, aka a total downer, and proceeded to text Guy that his car light was on. The BF didn't even have the decency to use his own phone! Instead, he used my phone and probably made it look like I cared about what happened.

It became pretty clear that the "storm" was going to quickly fizzle out. I was sure Guy would go back to parking his stupid car on the street the next day and I could once again park in my garage stall in peace. We woke up Wednesday morning to find actual snow (instead of sleet or rain) and Guy's garage door wide open.  It was clearly left open all night--probably after he went out there to shut his car light off--since there was snow accumulation inside the garage. Way to be honorable, BF.  We then celebrated Leap Day (the day that doesn't technically exist) by eating an obscene amount of food and taking one trip down the Log Chute at Camp Snoopy. That evening, when we got home and pulled into the garage, there was yet another crunching sound. Only this time, it was a lot louder. And everything around my front bumper - not just the exercise machine - was moving. I yelled at the BF to stop and when he put the car in reverse, everything moved backwards with us. We got out to inspect. Sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday night, their workout machine moved from being partly in our garage spot to really in our garage spot. I don't know how it could have possibly shifted as it precariously balanced on a pile of uneven boxes and objects and with the wind and snow blowing on it all night. Inexplicable, really. We had completely run over the thing and when we backed out, it got stuck underneath my front right bumper and was dragged back along the garage floor. BF had to get out and literally pull it out from under my car. He then did what we should have done the night before - he picked up the whole thing and just shoved it over onto their side of the garage. It now leans up against Guy's car and is completely out of my space. The little electronic thingy I broke is just smashed on the floor and the part of the machine that is supposed to hold the electronic thingy just sort of looks sad and alone, its plastic parts twisted and poking out at odd spots. As you can tell, I am not very familiar with gym equipment. I still haven't actually figured out whether it is a treadmill, an elliptical, or the thing that Tony Little makes his little sexual poses on, so I apologize if I have confused any of you. There's just one of these things (I think) in the garage, not all three.

Everything underneath my bumper is scratched to shit along with the bumper itself. But, I can't say that the scratches on the bumper were solely from the workout machine... In any event, I was so pissed about my car on Wednesday night that I was ready to knock on their door and announce that I had crushed their stupid machine. So of course we discover that same night that the people downstairs had left earlier that day to go on a week-long vacation. We have about 5 more days to decide how to handle the situation. We have discussed doing absolutely nothing and letting Guy walk in and see his beloved Gazelle smashed to bits, leaning up against his car, and letting him draw his own conclusions. We also considered writing yet another note to explain what happened, although this lead to a further discussion of whether the note should be cordial or if I should just say "I ran over your shit because you put it in my parking spot, douchebag." It was an intense debate at first on what to do, but now we are mostly over it and will likely forget to do anything about it before they come home sometime next week. Out of pure laziness, we'll execute Plan A: Do nothing. That also means I'll probably be posting something next week about how someone threw a broken exercise machine through my windshield.