Car park rage and profanity.

I have been privy to some fun and games during my Infliximab transfusions. Never with the transfusion itself, that’s always easy, but I do seem to encounter some interesting characters. It could be because the hospital is on the edge of Fitzroy; a stones throw from Smith Street and the conveniently located drug rehabs, or maybe I’m just lucky.

The transfusion takes the best part of the day so I always park in the hospital car park, one of those cramped high rise jobs that require even the most skilled driver to do a 5 point turn to get in (or out) of. As I stood waiting for the elevator, I watched as a guy in a Falcon that was as large as it was old, attempted to back out of a very tight space.

On about his 5^th attempt to reverse, with the arse end of his car sticking out about a meter, three pedestrians walked directly in front of (behind?) him. Despite the moving obstacles, he continued to back out at a slow crawl. One of the pedestrians stopped to thump the boot of his car with her fist. She was dressed in trackies and a T-shirt with bleach blond hair displaying about two inches of dark regrowth. She looked pissed off.

“Oi! Watch out, Dickhead” Ms. Angry called, pausing directly behind him to give him the finger and stick her tongue out. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw somebody poke their tongue out and even then I sincerely doubt they were over the age of 8.

The guy threw the door of his car open and jumped out, rage oozing from his every pore. He was obviously over it. I don’t know how long he’d been trying to get out; he was there when I arrived so I can only imagine it was at least 20 minutes.

“What’s your problem? You can see I’m backing out. Would it bloody kill you to walk on the other side of the car park?” He bellowed. Ms Angry, who’d started to walk away, stopped in her tracks and spun around. The look on her face clearly communicated her outrage.

“YOU have to give way to ME!” she yelled using that finger she loved so much to point in illustration of her words.

“YOU are on the wrong bloody side of the road. Keep LEFT.” The old guy said, pulling out his own finger.

“This isn’t a road. I don’t have to keep left.” She actually put her hands on her hips at this and I had to stifle a laugh.

“Well if it’s not a road, I don’t have to give way to YOU.” His face was red and he was spitting as he yelled across the car park at Ms Angry.

Some say...

Ms Angry’s companions, a man who looked really irritated and a younger woman, who just looked embarrassed, had stopped walking and were waiting a little further on. At this point the elevator arrived with a loud clunk.

“I wish I had hit you, you little bush fart. It might have knocked some sense into you!” With that he got back into his car, reversed out in one motion like he was The Stig and peeled out of there. It seems rage improves driving skills.

I had the good fortune to ride in the elevator with the trio. As we all got into the lift, Mr Irritated punched the ground floor button so hard I thought it might break. Ms Angry told him to ‘settle, petal’ and he took a deep breath and quietly said “Why do you have to get into a fight with someone every time we go anywhere?”

“I can’t help that people are dickheads.” She replied simply.

“I manage to get through life with relatively few confrontations with strangers, so do most people. You have them daily. Maybe it’s not everyone else who has the problem.” This was met with a brief silence and in that moment I wished I’d waited for the next elevator. Fortunately for us all, the comment was lost on her and she raged the whole way down about the dickhead who nearly killed her.

It really does beg the question though, what the hell is a bush fart?