When something as regrettably monumental as the tragedy in Ferguson, Mo., grips the nation, and the outcry is day after day of widespread violence, many of us have the same question: What would be a better way?
We all want this never to happen again; change is crucial. But brutality — on either side — can’t be our modus operandi as civilized people.
The fact is, every day brings us opportunities big and small to effect justice, and we always have a choice as to how to respond.
Not long ago, I was privy to a scenario that spelled sweet justice without violence. In no way do I compare the gravity of what I saw to the horrendous loss of life in Ferguson. I merely present an outside-the-box way to express rage in a quotidian situation.
It was an overcast day, and Colorado was breaking out in fervent holiday madness. There I was, driving up and down the lot at Park Meadows Mall trying to find a parking place. My mood was already dark, forcing me to gripe about why I had to put up with this when all I needed was a single item from PetSmart. But finally, I found a space way out on the outskirts of the mall.
There, I noticed a spanking new Lamborghini parked horizontally in the lot. Picture two adjacent letters — HH — which would normally accommodate four cars. Now place the Lamborghini horizontally across the middle H-bars so that it, and only it, can park there.
That Lamborghini took up four parking spaces. Four.
I wasn’t the only one who saw this as rapacious. But I was about to witness a most extraordinary phenomenon: a scene of communal indignation at its finest.
As I sat in my forlorn gray Honda Civic, a driver pulled up and eyed the arrogant Lamborghini. He paused for a moment, then stationed his black Hyundai Accent into the space right in front of that parking hog.
Remember, the Lamborghini was facing sideways. So now its driver couldn’t move forward. The driver of the Civic got out of his sedan, glared at the Lambor-ghini, and strode across the parking lot to the Cheesecake Factory.
Right behind the Hyundai, the driver of a tan Toyota was also looking for parking. The brakes went on when she reached the Lamborghini, all regal-like, resting on its four-space throne. The driver rolled her eyes, backed up and inserted her car next to the rear of the Lamborghini. Miraculously, two more cars rumbled up to the scene and slid themselves into the two open spaces that would completely lock in the greedy sports car, one in front and one behind.
I was getting giddier by the minute. But the show wasn’t over yet.
It was mere seconds before a blue Kia, its driver desperate for a parking space, slowly dragged the lane. The motorist stopped, took one look at Lamborghini Monster, and threw up her hands. She looked slyly from side to side, then inched her car into the space until her front bumper almost touched the side of the horizontally parked Lamborghini. So now it had the nose of a Kia flush to its driver’s door. The Kia driver slipped out of her car and chuckled, then bolted for the Container Store.
Just as I started to get out of my car, a Subaru approached the site of the silent war. Sure enough, it took the space on the passenger side of the Lamborghini, securing any exit plan from any direction.
The four cage-walls were now in place. The Subaru owner got out of his car, grinned, and sauntered off in the direction of Costco.
Oh. My. Gosh. This was such sweet justice. The human spirit, bonded in righteousness, had pulled off the perfect vindication without a single word exchanged.
No harassment, no ugly epithets, no violence.
Just a parade of cars, quietly righting a wrong.
Maggie McCann Pike is a writer from Centennial and a member of the Colorado Authors’ League.
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