  There is a man that parks in my garage, at work. Actually, there are many men that park in my parking garage, and many women too. And a couple of people that I'm not too sure about. But this particular man used to flirt with me in the biggest way.
He sent out strong I want you vibes every time I saw him. He's not too hard on the eyes, despite the Magnum PI moustache, but really. I had no interest in him. Because he's married. And I was with John, which was the next best thing to being married. Plus, that moustache. That type of thing is ok from a distance - whatever you want to put on your face, fella... But it's nothing I can get personal with. Suddenly, one day, he stopped all vibeage. Completely and utterly lost all interest in me. Which was weird - I've not encountered too many men that could flip the switch like that. But hey, maybe things got better at home or whatever.
Oh, how naive I can be. He has found himself a red headed whore to diddle! They are in the parking garage every single day. They hang out after work every day, sometimes for hours, sitting in one truck or the other like lovestruck teenagers. They park together, always one or two spaces apart. Sometimes, they'll park in the middle row so that they can face each other. When she gets there first, she sits in her little red toyota truck and fusses with her hair and makeup, and twists around in her seat, waiting and watching for him to pull in. (heh) When he gets there first, he goes through the papers in his briefcase or sits, listening to the radio and trying to look busy. One day, there was a note taped to her windshield, face down. It was obviously in a woman's handwriting - you could see the printing through the paper.
I nearly pulled it off of there, to see what it said. I was afraid that he'd get there just as I was sticking it back down or something, so I left it alone. I guess he got there too late for her that day or something. When I leave in the afternoons, they'll see me coming and we all pretend we don't see each other. In the mornings, it's more of the same. I guess I could park elsewhere. But at the time that I come in, shady spots are at a premium, and I'm not going to let my car bake in the sun just to avoid these two cheaters.
I could get my ass out of bed a little earlier, and try to get here before they do. That still wouldn't solve the problem of leaving. I don't know what time the two of them leave work, but when I get out there, they're either still sitting there or they're just leaving. (She stares back at him longingly as she drives away. It's really amazing. ) Last Friday, after the BBQ Extravaganza, they were still up there when I left here at about 6:45pm. There was a puddle of condensation underneath the exhaust on his truck. They must have been there for a while for that to happen.
They've both got american flags glued to their back windows. I don't really know why, but this bothers me. I could start a record. Take pictures of their cars, parked together like they are. A chronicle of the parking patterns of Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater and the Redheaded Floozy. hee. (I have my own prejudices against redheaded whores, thanks to John and the Infamous Bennigan's Incident.
We shall speak no more of that, however. ) (dirty whore. ) I dunno. I guess it's none of my business, and I shouldn't even worry about what they do. But I feel like I've been unwillingly (well. sort of unwillingly. ) drawn in to the conspiracy or something. I don't even know their names, but I know that they're cheaters. What am I going to do about it, though? Other than frown and judge and make that 'hmmmmm' noise that Marge Simpson makes? 
