Revenge, Foiled.

by Paul Raworth Bennett

Today, I almost did a terrible thing.

My dog Bingo and I were taking our usual morning stroll, walking briskly west along an eastbound one-way lane. As we passed in front of a daycare centre and playground, a row of angled parking spots was on our left.

Suddenly an enormous, late-model Cadillac Escalade SUV – six figures’ worth, I reckoned – turned right in front of us, muscling its way into a disabled-designated spot and missing us by about three feet.

Fortunately, I stopped on a dime; if I’d been distracted, Bingo and I would have been hit for sure.

After the SUV was parked, I approached the driver’s side door and prepared to serve up a piece of my mind.

The door opened and out swung a long pair of legs wrapped in designer-ripped, acid-washed jeans and equestrian boots, and the 40-ish road warrior otherwise sported a top-grain leather jacket, cashmere sweater, diamond necklace, and designer sunglasses perched atop a flowing mane of bottled-blonde hair. Clearly not in need of a disabled parking spot, she was impossibly beautiful, salon-engineered with botoxed lips, flawless makeup and perfectly-manicured, frightening nails.

After a quick up-and-down scan, she looked blankly at me as if nothing untoward had happened.

“I hope you don’t always cut off pedestrians like that,” I said calmly. “In your rush to snap up this disabled-reserved parking space, you almost flattened me and my dog.”

“I didn’t cut you off,” she replied dryly, her eyes narrowing. “You had plenty of room.”

“Actually, you did. My dog and I were walking very quickly and if we hadn’t abruptly stopped, you would have nailed us.”

“That’s ridiculous. What a load of crap!” she huffed, tossing her head back like a shampoo model and adjusting her sunglasses.

“It was very close and you just ignored us. You do know that pedestrians have the right-of-way, don’t you?” I admonished her, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” she sneered.

“You need to learn some basic manners,” I shot back.

“YOU need to learn some manners, loser! Get a life!” she yelled as a droplet of spittle landed on my jacket. And while I just stood there – wondering what I’d done that was so rude – she grabbed her Louis Vuitton handbag, slammed the door of the Escalade, turned on her riding heels and strode off towards the daycare, a mist of cologne swirling behind her.

For a few seconds, it was all I could do to stop myself from lobbying her an “effing B”; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fire in my veins. Fortunately, I quickly realized that hurling expletives would only worsen an already bad scene – so I brushed off her spittle, turned around, and Bingo and I continued on our way.

Before we’d gone another fifty feet, I casually put my hand in my jacket pocket. My fingers touched something soft, plastic and warm, and I winced as an aroma, known all too well by dog owners, drifted up into my nostrils.

The source, of course, was Bingo’s twice-daily gift of soil to Mother Nature, tidily knotted off in a little baggie.

I immediately recalled the time when, after absent-mindedly shoving my hand into my pocket, I had to wipe my fingers clean on a nearby patch of grass (fortunately, a public washroom was nearby).

And then I realized how I’d exact my revenge.

I looked back at the SUV. Six thousand pounds of gas-guzzling arrogance, it was sitting there, spotless, like a thirsty steel-and-glass hippo in a watering hole.

And when my eyes caught the glint of sunshine reflecting off her crystal-clear windshield, I knew just what to do.

My id locked horns with my superego, their tussle injecting me with another shot of adrenaline. Nobody else was around, I’d only need about ten seconds, and if I handled the baggie carefully I’d be able to keep my hands clean. Fast, simple, and fun!

My heart thumping in my chest, I walked towards the vehicle while scanning around for some nearby bushes. She’s probably just picking up her kid from the daycare, I thought. I could get the job done, hide in that hedge over there, and wait around for the show! (It didn’t occur to me that Bingo might blow my cover.)

We were almost back at the Escalade when she emerged from the daycare dragging a smartly-dressed, whining little boy towards the vehicle. She spied us, looked away, and pushed her son up into the front passenger seat (where there was no child safety restraint system). Then she strode around to the driver’s side, hopped in, revved the engine, backed out roughly – this time, missing me by about ten feet instead of six – and squealed her tires while speeding away in a playground traffic zone.

Foiled, I clenched my teeth for just a moment… and then I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down at Bingo. His beautiful, brown, unblinking eyes met mine while he wagged his tail, as usual, in circles. Then I tossed his little gift bag into a nearby trash can, focused my thoughts on gratitude, and walked slowly home.

4 thoughts on “Revenge, Foiled.

  1. Paul, LOVED your amusing recount of what we all think of rude people sometimes, and the “revenge” that would level the playing field. Your choice of words and vivid description of the situation put me in the scene with you and your dog Bingo. I’m not so sure I would have been as noble as you!

    Like

    1. Christina,

      Grazie per le vostre gentili parole di sostegno!

      I’m glad to hear that you felt right there in the scene and you could relate to this scenario, because I think we’ve all encountered this kind of rudeness. If the piece has instilled my felt emotions in at least one reader, then my labor will have been worth it (actually – and you as a writer can relate to this – it was not so much labor as fun!)

      And as far as my nobility is concerned – I’m 90% I wouldn’t have actually followed through with the deed, but it’s a good thing that b@tch reappeared when she did because at that point, primal urges were prevailing!

      Dio ti benedica!

      Like

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