Nocturnal Parking Lot Antics

Over the hedge, to the north of my position, lies a parking lot (above). It serves a gymnastic studio and a small strip of retail outlets for such things as uniforms (civilian type uniforms, when I went in looking for an 1805 Imperial Guard Chasseur à Pied uniform, they looked at me rather strangely... Just kidding, I didn't really do that), and various and sundry other things for which I am not in the market. (A quick search of the 'Net reveals that one of the businesses is an office for an outfit that provides food to schools. I've seen their truck parked there, now I know why...).

At any rate, on Thursday instant, in my ode to sleeplessness, I referenced an old post, from 2015, to wit -

Sounds a lot like work, far too much work for my tired brain to accomplish last night. Besides which I wandered off to read this old post of mine. Still gets hits from time to time, at least one yesterday. I guess the title draws in those folks interested in the proto-Romantic movement in German literature and music that occurred between the late 1760s and early 1780s.

Now that post drew a comment from Cerberus, er, I mean our archivist, one AW, aka Beans -

Sooooo..... poor excuse for SLACKING, blaming it on not sleeping. Yeesh. And here you had a perfect opportunity to practice POCYR over the antics of the parking-lot people and you STILL haven't. Double Yeesh!

Said comment generated the reaction, "What the bloody Hell is old Beansie on about now?"

So I went back to that old post and read this...

Before continuing I have to apprise you of a couple of things. One is that I have pretty good night vision, two is that the parking lot behind the estate is lit to prevent the ne'er-do-wells of the town from pursuing certain nefarious activities in said parking lot.

Remind me someday to regale you with some of the nonsense, hi-jinks and downright stupidity I have witnessed in that parking lot in the dead of night, when normal people are abed, the wicked roam the land and old guys get up to pee.

It all became quite clear at that point. It was one of those Provided Of Course I Remember (POCIR, pronounced poh-ker, like the card game) moments (which from Beans' point of view was a Provided Of Course You Remember (POCYR, pronounced poh-seer because, why not?) moment). Indeed I had forgotten, and in that moment a new acronym was born.

Obviously I Did Not Remember, OIDNR, pronounced OY-dinner! (And yes it has to be shouted.)

Immediately after coining said acronym I quickly went to the Acronym Page and added it, knowing full well that Cerberus Beans would be checking, as would Obergrammatikführer* Quandt, aka Paul the Grammarian (for those of you of a non-Teutonic persuasion). Which frustrated Beans to no end, to wit (yes, I like writing that) -

Ha! I checked the Acronym Page and it was there. Either you snuck a fix or you've been planning on using it on Paul or me for a while.

Sigh, "snuck it in," reminds me of this, that does -

How dare they talk about -

- that way, er, I mean "My Acronym Page." Yeah, that's right, Acronym Page (mustn't call it the Precioussss, nasty Florida Hobbit will beat on Smeagol, er, I mean Sarge).

So before time rolls on too much further...

Caught in Providence, I snapped this while in traffic. Dinnae fash yersels', The Missus Herself was driving.

I see that I have drifted way off course in my intent to relate to you the tale of the Nocturnal Parking Lot Antics, ahem, so here we go, a fanfare if you please -

Ah, love the sound of a good old-fashioned trumpet fanfare, brings to mind the days of...

Right then, I'd best get on with it...

Long ago I was a smoker, spending many an evening upon my deck puffing a cigarette and beholding the skies above, the skunk by my foot (covered here, during "Skunk Week"), and the antics of my fellow humans. Now in those days (over six years ago, I quit smoking in November of 2012, the 4th unless I am very much mistaken, which I'm not), the hedge seen in the opening photo was much shorter. In fact, the incidents which occur in this tale were probably over 12 years ago. So that hedge was a lot shorter back then.

So, once upon a midnight dark and dreary, as I lit up my smoke and quaffed a beverage, I sat down then beheld an automobile parked up by the building furthest from my border, er, property line. There were at least two people in that vehicle and they were behaving oddly (get your minds out of the gutter, that happens later).

I observed the vehicle at the location and observed that the suspects, er, occupants of the vehicle seemed to be drinking. I seriously doubt that they were imbibing soft drinks. As I didn't want to read about high school students getting killed in a drunk driving incident, I felt the urge to contact the local constabulary and report these nefarious activities. Yes, Dear Reader, I dropped a dime on those beyotches (a word I learned from The WSO, seriously).

The police came, chastised the Utes, er youths, confiscated their beverages and sent them on their way, no arrests were made, no breathalyzers were offered, none taken. They had been there only a short time. I do believe paperwork was done as the youths seemed rather put out.

Some weeks later I was again taking the night air when I observed a vehicle on the left of the parking lot, close in to my territory, er, property, and that said vehicle was full of smoke.

"Hhmm, I wonder if the car is on fire. Seem to be people inside, hhmm, they seem to be sharing a cigarette between the four of ..."

Springing to the phone (intoxicated people should not be allowed on the streets while operating a motor vehicle, maybe it's just me...) I dialed the local Polizeiamt and the following conversation ensued...

"Police, how may I help you?"

"Yes, this is The Sarge at Chez Sarge (I actually used my real name and address) and I would like to report some odd goings-on in the parking lot of the gymnastics studio astern my dwelling."

"What do you see?"

"Four Utes, er, youths, sitting in an automobile smoking. I thought it odd that they are sharing a single cigarette, I rather assume they are actually partaking of the demon weed, Mary Jane, pot, weed, marry-joo-wanna, ya know, grass."

Yes, the desk sergeant was chuckling at all that.

"I'll send a car out, do you mind staying on the phone until it gets there?"

"Not at all my good fellow, I'm your man."

So I repaired to high ground (bathroom window upstairs) and kept a weather eye on the "perps." Just before the squad car arrived, the suspect vehicle drove off. I told the desk sergeant this and informed him that the vehicle was red in color and appeared to be a late model Japanese make. I also told him that the vehicle had departed the parking lot and had then proceeded westbound on such-and-such street.

I saw the squad car at this point, swinging through the parking lot, turn his lights on and proceed at a high rate of speed in pursuit of those nefarious types smoking weed behind my house. Yes...

As I don't have a Garand, I call the cops.

Now the next, and thankfully last, incident occurred about a month before the owner of the land upon which the parking lot sits installed rather bright lights to illuminate the lot and deter those who would practice mischief therein.

Again, I was in my accustomed spot, cigarette in hand, adult beverage nearby, surveying the land spread before me. And that parking lot, in which was yet another vehicle, with two occupants who may, or may not, have been wrestling.

Not being a prude, I sat back and thought, "Hhmm, what have we here? Young people in love perhaps? Ah, I remember when I was a youth." Thinking that this was nothing evil per se, though some might disagree, I decided to finish my cigarette on the other side of the house, give the young couple some privacy.

As I stood to depart the vicinity, the driver's door on the vehicle opened. The dome light immediately came on ("Heh, amateurs." I said to myself) revealing two semi-naked human beings. Oh, I must avert my eyes, I am no voyeur, oh sweet lord it's two guys.

That being said, I began to have my evening smoke facing south, away from the parking lot. Like Lot, I never turned around. After the owner had installed the lights, which now made the parking lot look a lot like an East German border crossing, no further nefarious activities, that I could see, occurred again.

So Beans -

There endeth the lesson...




* Note that Obergrammatikführer is the German word (I just made up) for the Head Grammar Leader, or Guide, if you will. And I do. I'm not calling anyone a grammar Nazi, nope, pure coincidence that I coined that German word for... Oh, never mind, go read the rest of the post. Sofort! Mach schnell!