Yesterday, Mark found 'the perfect Mini Cooper parking spot' across the street from this apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
He backed in, then worked his way back and forth and back and forth, knocking against the neighboring bumpers and laughing maniacally, until he was wedged in between two cars. When he was finished, there were only a couple inches behind us and in front. I felt like I'd watched someone lying on the floor, struggling into a pair of jeans just out of the dryer.
I got out and surveyed the situation. The car behind us was hemmed in, with only a couple inches of breathing room on each end. I shook my head. 'Yknow, if I owned that car, I'd be kind of pissed. How's he supposed to get out?'
We went upstairs. Mark sat looking out the window at his car, and I could see him thinking about it. Finally he went downstairs and again inched himself back and forth and back and forth, until he was out of the space.
Bad karma avoided.