Click Bait

 As I spend record amounts of time web searching, I see more and more so called "click bait." That's a story, typically in some more obscure publication, designed to catch your eye and have you click on it -- the better to expose you to advertising.

A particularly annoying version is the tale where you have to scroll through a slide show, to get to the end. Almost always, I abandon this after a few slides. If it's a legit tale, I go over to Wikipedia or some other source to see what truly happened. Every once in awhile, though, it's a tale I know appears nowhere else, but I still need to see the resolution. That happened this am.

It was a story about a fellow who was patiently waiting for a parking spot at a crowded restaurant, and a bunch of rude young women cut him off and stole his space. I scrolled through the rather mundane tale to see how "Tom" had gotten revenge -- when he left, he had a waiter tell the girls their car was keyed, and they ought to have parked elsewhere. Tom didn't really key the car, but the girls were so drunk and off they called the cops to report the vandalism, which wasn't there, and then proceeded to drive off, at which time the driver was arrested for DUI. No proof this actually happened exists, but it DID bring back a memory of the time I was that "Tom," and it brought a smile to my face.

It was the Summer of '92, a month or so before Hurricane Andrew. Mike and Loni and baby Amanda and Wifey, the Ds, and I had taken a trip to Northern Wisconsin, where Mike's parents owned a lake house. It was a delightful family trip -- we flew in and out of O'Hare - and spend a great week tubing on the lake and exploring the family friendly sights, like the Hodag Museum - a paen to a famous hoax about a mythical beast called the Hodag, which local hotel owners created to gin up visits to their part of the North Woods.

We had rented a minivan, and had it packed with the three car seats, and baby supplies for Amanda and D2. D1 was the elder states-child, and I still recall her uncontrolled laughter at the chipmunks. Mike would tie peanuts to a string on the wooden deck, and the adorable chipmunks would comically jump up and grab the peanuts. D1 made him do it all morning.

Anyway, we had a flight out of O'Hare, and had booked two rooms in a local Embassy Suites, to spend the night before returning the mini van and flying home to Miami. We took the families out to dinner, and returned to the hotel.

The hotel had a strip of maybe 20 spots right next to the building, which were most convenient, especially to 2 families who had to schlep the supplies for 3 small children. There was also a larger garage a bit away in the back, which required a long walk laden with stuff. Mike was driving, and as we entered the lot a space in the coveted line was opening up. Mike put on his signal and we waited for the parker to leave. He did, and then in swooped an early 90s Camaro -- a comically looking Chicago "Da Bears" kind of guy with three young women with him -- the hotel had a bar that apparently attracted local Chicagoland types.

Mike was furious. I got out of the car, and approached the guy -- silk shirt and gold chains, with the 3 women reeking of cheap perfume. I explained that we were patiently waiting for the spot, we were two families loaded with gear, and could he please let us park there, and instead take the garage spots, since he was young and strong and had 3 ladies and was headed to a far more fun evening than we.

He smirked at me, said "Nah -- sucks to be you, doesn't it?" and started off. Mike was furious -- he was ready to jump out of the car and go after the guy. I stopped him, and smiled, and we dropped off Wifey and Loni and the 3 girls, and told them we'd meet in one of the rooms. Mike and I parked in the lot and trudged back to the hotel. I told him I had a plan.

We went to the room, and I wrote out a note. "Good evening, asshole. You truly wanted this parking spot so much, you stole it from 2 families with kids. Well -- now you get to stay in it for a bit longer. Enjoy the night. By the way -- the girls were at MOST 2s or 3s." I guess that last part was pre "Me Too" language, but the three females had laughed and enjoyed the macho display of their Camaro driver.

We went back to the lot, put the note on his windshield, and emptied the air of TWO of his tires -- chuckling like adolescent boys. And then we retreated to our rooms.

My room overlooked the lot. I kept checking the lot -- in great anticipation of seeing the rage of our enemy. As of midnight -- no sign of him and his 3 gun molls. I have no idea whether he had a gun. I finally went to sleep, and by the next morning, the Camaro was gone.

We returned the mini van, flew home, and laughed about our frontier justice for the start of the trip. Loni now knew her friend Dave was definitely a "Don't get mad -- get even" kind of a guy. I still am.

Like the click bait tale of this am, there are no pictures of this episode of poetic justice, but I can testify it happened. I wonder whether the "Da Bears" guy learned his lesson. Regardless, it made for a lot of laughs for the otherwise aggrieved Miami tourists.