So as of this moment, I'm all moved out. Kind of. Well, mostly. In case you were wondering, moving out is incredible. Here are three things that aren't:
1) Trying to get a fridge up 5 flights of stairs
2) Being accused of stealing someone else's car spot
3) Realising you left all your shoes at Mum and Dad's house
Ah, well. Footwear is overrated.
About the car spot thing: what the hell? If you know me, you know I'm the kind of person who hates pissing anyone off. Unless you're my sister Catherine and it's intentional. Otherwise, no. So when I woke up to an angry windshield letter on Monday morning, I wasn't exactly psyched about it. 'Car spot Thief' isn't exactly the kind of thing you want on your rental history. Plus the foyer in our building gets pretty dark at night; plenty of chances for a neighbour to sneak up and stab me. They would probably stash the body under my car out of spite.
Anyway as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about. A quick call to our real estate agent confirmed that we were in fact parking in the right spot, and it was The Angry Note Leaver in the wrong.
You know those times when someone accuses you of breaking the rules and makes you feel all shit about it, until you realise you haven't done anything wrong at all? Talk about a rollercoaster of emotion. This was me within the space of about 30 minutes:
Finding The Note
Calling The Agent
Realising I Just Got Bullied By My New Neighbour For No Reason
I mean. What a bitch! This is assuming we're talking about a girl here. I suppose it could be a guy. In that case, what a dick! The worst part about this whole thing is that they didn't even leave their name or phone number. So there's no way for me to call them up and rub it in their face:
It IS my carspot you toolbag! And don't even THINK about killing me in the foyer.
Don't be fooled by the newfound independance, people. I am as idiotic as ever.