What’s Going On?

Shiny silver car. Not owned by Shaun.

I was trying to remember where I parked my car on Saturday morning (something which happens far too often for my liking) when I noticed a shiny silver car parked in one of the shaded – and thus coveted – parking spaces just outside The HQ.

Usually this would not be an issue, all the tenants fight to get the good parking spaces and not have to park way down the street. None of us are too fond of walking, me especially, for obvious reasons.

What annoyed me however, was the fact that the guy who got out of the shiny silver car was none other than the heroin addict who has been sleeping outside in the street for several months now. I’m pretty sure I have mentioned him in the past. He is the guy who will swear at you like a seasoned gangster when you politely ask him to get out of the way, so you can drive off the property and not ride over him and his girlfriend, who are both snuggled in nicely under a warm blanket having a lie in, whilst you are trekking to work on a cold and wet Monday morning.

I have never been envious or resentful toward them before, as he resembles a weasel, and she looks like a middle-aged man, and they both give off a rather peculiar odour (I believe it to be a combination of urine, onion, and parmesan cheese, but I’ve never been close enough to confirm this)

Now, resembling a large weasel can perhaps be put down to genes (his parents probably look like weasels as well), and I’m probably being a cock for bringing that up, but I’m a firm believer that you should never smell of urine, onion and especially parmesan cheese, so he gets no sympathy from me on that one.

It's fine to look like a weasel, but smelling of parmesan cheese? No.

The fact that he seems to have a newer car than me, leaves me feeling both bitter and confused. Something is clearly not right in the world, when a guy who sleeps on the street and who urinates in both public parks – and I sadly suspect, my car doors – can drive a newer model vehicle than me. Especially when he is mean and calls me horrible names when he sees me.

I’m not sure how he is managing this, but am certainly not going to ask him. I usually pretend he is invisible when he is near, as invisible as those blind Zimbabweans at the traffic lights in the southern suburbs, or the Big Issue vendors in the CBD. Unlike them though, he doesn’t go away after an awkward few seconds of being ignored, and will instead demand money to look after your car, or stand the risk of having him pee on it.

So not only do I have to put up with him owning a shinier newer model than me and taking the best parking spots, I also have to drive around in a car which consistently smells of weasel piss. Not a happy camper right now.

Oakes signing off.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.