Can you curse without resorting to the shopworn F-bomb?
The main strip in our seaside town is lined with 45° angled parking. Every weekend, we’re swarmed by Sydney folks escaping the city. I try to avoid town on weekends, especially in summer.
Finding a parking spot is tough enough, but getting out when weekenders rush back to the city is another level of frustration. You inch back slowly, hoping for a miracle. But the city folks are on a mission and won’t stop for anything short of divine intervention. You spot a tiny gap and inch out, blocking traffic, trying not to let the old F-bomb slip in front of the kids, feeling like you’ve narrowly escaped a disaster.
Sit on your gearshift till Easter.
Australian drivers are a rowdy bunch. I often wonder if they’ve ever considered paying it forward.
