People Are Fucking In The Parking Lot

I was stretching my legs at work today when I walked past a grey SUV in the parking lot that had its engine running. And strangely enough, when I glanced over at it, I saw no one in the driver’s seat. Then I looked a little to the left and saw a reclined bucket seat, a back, and a pair of legs in the air. People are fucking in the parking lot now. In broad daylight.

Now, I don’t really care if people are fucking in the parking lot, even if they’re hideously ugly. I couldn’t see much in the second and a half it took me to do a classic comedy double-take as I was walking by. And there are no kids in that area, so it’s not like they’re traumatizing anyone. In fact, once I inadvertently got someone in trouble for getting laid and I still feel bad about it.

I was in college, and my roommates and I were sitting around, surprise, surprise, drinking beer. We lived next to a convenience store, which was handy because not only were we very close to beer and cigarettes, but we didn’t even really have to get dressed very much to go in there. They knew us, the guys who would walk in at 9:00 in the morning wearing boxers and nothing else and buy a carton of smokes and three cases of Old Milwaukee.

Across the parking lot from us was a large house that housed a long-suffering family raising a couple of kids in high school. I say they were long suffering because we were total drunken jackasses 100% of the time, and they put up with it. Seriously, I was the lead singer in a band that rehearsed in that house, and I cannot count the times that I decided to change the lyrics to a song in such a way as to make them totally unfit for human listening. And I did so, at top volume with the windows open half the time. I’m sure that was just the tip of the very drunken iceberg.

What you'd expect to find at the tip of a drunken iceberg

Anyway, one night as we’re sitting around drinking beer, I notice a guy lurking next to this house across the parking lot from us. And he’s peering into windows, looking around to see if anyone is watching, the whole nine yards. So after getting my rommates to confirm that I wasn’t hallucinating (an important consideration in those days), I picked up the phone and called 911.

Me: Hi, I live on 555 Main Street, and I’m watching some shady looking guy peering into windows in the house right next to us.

911: Oh, the house on 555 Main? Yeah, we’re familiar with that house. We get calls about those guys all the time.

Me: No, no, no, I’m one of those guys, and I’m telling you the dude is peering into windows in a different house.

911:  (pause) Really?

Me: Yes.

911: You know it is a criminal offense to abuse the 911 emergency system, right?

I wish I was exaggerating that exchange, but we were so notorious that not only did the 911 operator recognize the address, but she was positive that if we called 911, it had to be some drunken jackassery. Like the time I called them up to ask them to stop the rain because we wanted to play wiffle-ball at 4:00 AM. Seriously. I really did that. Ahem.

I'm pretty sure drunk dialing was my major at one point.

Anyway, after I repeated the story a couple of times, the guy in question pushed open a window and crawled into the house. I fairly exploded with excitement and the operator assured me the police were almost on the scene. Of course after I hung up the phone I realized that the cops were surrounding our house, one would assume out of long standing habit.

We quickly clarified the situation and the cops surrounded our neighbor’s house and sent an officer to the door while we all watched from the living room window, beers in hand. We saw lights go on in the house, leading first to the front door, then back towards the room that the guy had climbed into. Once that light went on, nothing happened for a long time.

Finally, a cop came walking out of the house laughing. I called him over and asked what happened, and he said, “First of all, thanks for calling that in. If someone is climbing in windows around here, we do need to know about it. But in this case…” At this point another cop walked out of the house, and as he walked past us he said, “That was a classic.”

What had happened was that I had called the police to report that a 16 year old boy was sneaking into the bedroom of his 16 year old girlfriend. And they were getting after it when the police burst in, followed shortly thereafter by her enraged parents. Fucking oops. Sorry dude.

A recreation of the enraged father and the young suitor the next day. Seriously, dude, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am.

So when my coworker suggested today that we call the police on the truck-fuckers and then kick back and watch the fun, I disagreed. I didn’t see the need to interrupt them. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought that it would be terrifically entertaining if they were to look up and see that everyone in my office was standing next to their SUV taking cell-phone pictures of them. Unfortunately, as I decided to act on this, I saw the SUV leave the parking lot.

But hope is not lost. As I recounted the story to the rest of my coworkers, one of them told me that this is a fairly regular occurrence. The couple usually parks in the same parking spaces, one in a sedan, and one in an SUV (sometimes blue, sometimes grey). The woman gets out of the sedan, into the SUV, and it’s hot-parking-lot-lovin’ time!

So now we’ve got an agreement that the next person to see them in action will call someone in the office and tell them there is a “Code Grey” in progress. That’s our signal to snap into action, totally disregarding the business of making money in order to have cheap laughs at the expense of a couple of people rutting like pigs in public. And you can be sure that when we get the pics, you’ll see them here first. You’re welcome.