Reverse Cowgirl Parking, Zotters and Zombies-We got it all here!

What’s the deal with backing into parking spaces? There seems to be a segment of the population, thankfully a relatively small one, who are insistent on backing into their parking spaces.

Why is this?

And when I say insistent I mean like these folks are obsessed. I think about this every time I drive to my local park and ride and find a row of cars parked in what I would say, is essentially backwards. I’ve been meaning to mention it before, but on the list of stuff that captures my interest this falls just below studies on raccoon hibernation. But yesterday I found myself in a parking lot and I actually had to wait behind a dude who was waiting behind a lady who was waiting behind another lady who was waiting while a guy in a Ford F-150 was making a 125 point turn in order to back his big truck into a parking space.

And I had to ask why. Why, prefaced by “wtf”, and a couple exclamations of “really”, followed with the traditional “douche”. Really can someone explain this to me, because frankly my assumption when I see people backing into parking spots in normal lots, that they are seriously defective.

Moving on.

I consider myself to fairly attune to the popular culture. True I never go to movies or listen to pop radio, but someway somehow I keep up. And I track. But somewhere along the line I’ve missed something. I’m getting older now, maybe I’m not as keen an observer as I once was.. but help me here.. what’s the deal with the damned honey badgers? They’re referenced everywhere. Honey Badger this, Honey Badger that.. I’m sure that it a reference to the obstinate little mustelid (Weasel for those of you in North Dakota) that inhabits the wilds of Africa. And I’m sure they’re nasty little critters that fight lions and eat cobras and all that. My question, when and how did the reference get introduced into the common lexicon?

Don’t get it.

Don’t get tattoos either but that’s another story.

Speaking of obstinate mustelids, what’s the deal the otters here in Minnesota. I’ve lived here for 18 years, I’m a legal Minnesotan now. In that time I had never, and I mean never ever heard of otters attacking people. Not that it didn’t happen, I’m sure if you tried to pet an otter in the wild or fight him for his pelt they’d make an account of themselves. But in those cases you would be an idiot and it wouldn’t be news.

This summer I’ve read about three separate attacks by otters on people swimming in lakes. Swim-by attacks. We have otters on our lake, I see them once in awhile. I’ve always thought of otters as friendly little weasels who like to frolic in the lake, build snow slides, you know cute little things. I thought so highly of them that I even sublet the underside of my canoe to an otter family last winter.

But now if they’re out there attacking people, well this shits scary. Is this some pretense of a coming inter-species animal war? Do I have to think about my corgi, who BTW has also attacked people on occasio. I kinda thought the end was going to be about zombies not crazy critters, ’cause if it’s animals that are going to come after us I’m legitimately afraid for humanity.

Or maybe… maybe these are actually dead otters reanimated as a zombies, zotters. Zombie animals? Haven’t thought about that one.

BTW, otters aside, the last few months I’ve read more than a few stories about zombie attacks, or rather people going after other people for the purposes of consumption rather than the more traditional conversation. I think the government knows about this and it’s that this growing problem.

I mean zombies…

There are more zombies among us than you might think! Frankly they’re everywhere. Check out at Wal-Mart, it’s damned hard to find a cashier who’s not a zombie. You’ve seen them, catatonic vapid pools of blackness where the eyes used to be, the inability to answer even the most simple question like “Can I return this if it doesn’t work?” and the smell of something gone rotten.

I ran into a zombie at Kwik Trip last week.

Recently in a moment of extreme weakness supplemented by boredom I signed up for text messages from Kiwk Trip.

I texted a message to the number on the pump and BOOM, I’m live and in the hive. My phone was buzzing like a pornstars magic wand as the messages and coupons came rolling in. Free donut, free pop, cheap candy, 50 cents off bananas, nothing particularly useful mind you until.. .10 cents of per gallon on gas fillup. Just show this text to the cashier.

Su-weet.

Now, the logistics of a text coupon for gas whens I always pay at the pump were somewhat confusing to me. I must have been standing there meditating on the situation a wee bit too long because all of sudden the loudspeaker announced, at about 100 decibels, “WELCOME TO KWIKTRIP PUMP 6″. Scared the shit otta me. At Kwiktrip they have a kind of pumpmaster roll, dude who sits behind tinted glass that’s set an angle like the Air Traffic Tower at the airport. Pumpmaster has the controls to entire field of gas pumps, all 12 of them, and he or she alone decides who can pump, and who… can not. I knew they could see me so I held up iPhone to show him the text and pointed to the pump. Smiling of course.

“PUMP 6 COME INTO THE STORE PLEASE”.

“PUMP 6?” My name is Gary and I resent being addressed by PUMP 6. But to him that’s all we are on the outside, pumpers and numbers.

I went in.

Zombies were everywhere. Filling up 175oz cups of coke, apparently diabetes is not a concern for them. Mixing coffee, half caffeinated, half de-calf and about half a gallon of sweetened liquid lard for the creamer. I went to Pump Control and showed the fellow with the Ron Jeremy mustache my coupon.

“Wasssat” he asked.

As I approach 50 years on planet earth, one thing I can safely say is than when dude with a mullet and a Ron Jeremy mustache ask “wassat”, nothing goods gonna come.

“It’s a coupon”. He squinted up and looked.. “Naw, that’s a phone.” “the coupon… is on the phone”.

Warning klaxons were going.

He looked at it.. “Aw. Yeah.. I see it. How much gas you want?”

Funny that I’ve made it 50 years and I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before. Even when I’m carrying an empty 1 gallon can I’ve never, ever said “Proprietor, I would like to purchase a gallon of your finest petrol, something in the 89 octane range, preferably non-oxygenated.”

No, it’s always “Fill’r up”. I have said I’ll take X dollars worth once in a while, but never told someone how much gas I was going to buy. So, I answered “I’m going fill it up.”

“Naw, don’t work that way, ya gotta tell me how much gas you’re going to buy and I’ll take the amount of the bill when you pay.”

Confused. “What if I say 11 gallons and I only need 8?”

“why would ya tell me that then?”

“Because I my gas gauge only has two settings, full and empty?”

“don’t ya know how much you need?”

“I need about, ¾ of a tank, and before you answer Sir Pumpmaster, I don’t know how big the tank is.. 12 gallons maybe.”

At that point my quick reasoning kicked in, the most I’m buying is about 10 gallons. A coupon worth 10 cents a gallon means the most I can save is one lousy dollar. One. Since I’d already incurred about $8.00 in frustration which was a going downhill so fast that I cut bait. While the zombie was mumbling something I simply turned around and walked out.

“You aint gonna be able to use your coupon if ya don’t come back’ere and show to me.”

I turned, flush.. “Sir, there is no scenario in my mind that that ends with you successfully executing the details of this offer nor I realizing a single shekel of savings on my $40.00 purchase. I would like to save us both the frustration of continued useless exchange and simply pay the dollar and not have to deal with you.” Followed by “thanks”.

Zombie looked at the other zombie in the control room and asked “what’d'e say?”

I’m telling you they are all around us.