Reserved Parking Means Reserved for Me

I pull into the office building lot where I occasionally rent space for my “consulting firm” (read: one desk, one plant, zero clients). I see the perfect spot—front row, shaded, directly across from the door. The sign says:

RESERVED FOR BUILDING MANAGER

I roll down my window, give the sign a once-over, and think, Well… I manage myself, don’t I?

So I park.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m inside the coffee area pouring my third cup when a guy in a polo storms in. “Who’s in my parking space?” he demands.

“That’s yours?” I ask, feigning shock. “I thought it meant reserved for important people. You know, the kind of people who have somewhere to be and things to do.”

He says he’s calling security. I tell him I’ll wait in my office, but I may need a valet to move my car when I’m done because I parked professionally.

Security never shows. I stay until 4:59, then casually stroll to my car, wave to him, and say, “Thanks for keeping my spot warm.”