The townhouse complex we live in only has a limited amounted of parking. Jonathan parks his car in the garage and I park mine in one of two spaces closest to where we live. This is how it went down a few days ago:
Driving into our car park, I noticed that a truck had parked in my spot. Because the owner wasn't around, I pulled into an open spot across from mine, opened my door halfway and heard:
"I hope you don't plan on staying there long." I opened my door wider and saw an older woman sticking her head out of her door, scowling at me. "That's my husband's space."
"I'm sorry, but someone parked in my space, too. That's it over there." I pointed to the spot behind me.
"Well I've lived here for fifteen years and you better go find the person who parked there and tell them to move. Because you're parked in my husband's space and he's getting back in a little while."
I almost laughed, imagining myself knocking on every door in the complex and asking for the truck owner who had parked in my spot. Instead I just got peeved. It really wasn't a big deal, I knew, but she was making it one. Who immediately yells at strangers/quasi-neighbors for something so minor? I asserted, a little too loudly, "I'm leaving in a little bit, but we can switch places if you want," hoping she would see that I was the more mature one and that she was the overreacting one. I noticed the driver of the car was wisely making herself inconspicuous and staying out of the brawl.
"No." She glared at me and repeated herself menacingly. "But he'll be home in a little while."
"I'll switch places with you, I really will."
We both got out of our cars, shutting the doors a little too hard. She wandered to the end of the parking lot, her back turned to me, waiting for her friend/daughter/someone to gather her things. And I stormed to my apartment. I unpacked my groceries and wondered how many years I had digressed in five minutes of cat fighting. This is what happens when I settle myself into a new "big kids" life and start calling myself an adult.