The late afternoon sun was just starting its slow slide towards the horizon, painting the sky with soft oranges and purples. I had found a quiet bench far enough from the main path at the scenic overlook, the kind of spot where you could watch the waves crash against the shore without being bothered by too many people. My plan was simple: enjoy the view, finish the chapter in my book, and just… be. I like watching people, but from a distance, like they are characters in a silent movie. It lets me observe without having to actually interact, which suits me perfectly.
My attention was drawn away from my book by a low rumble. A shiny, somewhat loud sports car, a bright electric blue, pulled up into the designated pickup and drop-off zone. This area was clearly marked with white lines and a sign that said, “Active Loading Zone Only – No Parking.” The driver, a young man who looked like he was barely out of college, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, got out. He had on expensive-looking sunglasses and spent a good minute adjusting his hair in the reflection of the car window. He then leaned against the front fender, pulled out his phone, and started scrolling. He looked like he owned the place, or at least thought he did. He definitely wasn’t “actively loading.”
A few minutes passed, and more cars started arriving, trying to navigate around the blue sports car. People sighed and shook their heads, but no one said anything. That is, until a couple approached. The woman, who had neat blonde hair and a bright pink sun visor, was already talking quickly to her husband. She was pointing at the sports car. Her husband, a man with tired eyes and shoulders that seemed to slump just a little, just nodded and kept walking. They were carrying a large picnic basket, and it looked heavy. They wanted to get to a specific picnic table that was just a little past where the blue car was parked, and the car was making it harder to get by with their basket.
The woman, let’s call her Jane in my head, stopped a few feet from the young man. She put her hands on her hips. Her husband stopped a little behind her, looking like he wished he was anywhere else. Jane cleared her throat loudly. The young man looked up from his phone, pulling his sunglasses down his nose just enough to peer over them. He raised an eyebrow, a clear sign that he felt bothered. This small action seemed to make Jane even more determined.
Jane started speaking, her voice clear and a little sharp, even from my bench. She pointed at the “No Parking” sign. She explained that he was blocking the path for everyone, especially those with larger items, and that it was rude and against the rules. She said something about how it was a public space and he couldn’t just do whatever he wanted. The young man listened, but his expression didn’t change much. He put his sunglasses back on, which made it hard to read his eyes, but it felt like he was hiding a small smile.
When she paused for breath, he spoke. His voice was calm, almost too calm for the situation. He said something like, “I’m just waiting for someone, ma’am. I won’t be long.” He even added a polite, “Sorry for the trouble,” but his posture didn’t change. He was still leaning casually against his car, not moving an inch. His politeness felt like a rubber band being stretched too far, ready to snap, or maybe it was just a way to make Jane angrier by being so unbothered.
Jane’s face got a little redder. She repeated that it was a no-parking zone and that “waiting” was still parking. She emphasized the word “parking” quite a bit. She said she had every right to get to her picnic spot without having to squeeze past an illegally parked car. Her husband shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then gently tugged on her arm, mumbling something quiet about finding another spot. Jane completely ignored him, pulling her arm away with a quick jerk. She then looked at the young man’s license plate, making it clear she was memorizing it, or thinking about writing it down. I noticed a small dent just above the rear tire on his car, a detail probably only I would pay attention to, as I tend to fixate on little things like that.
The young man just sighed, a very soft, almost theatrical sound. He still didn’t move. He took his phone out again, but instead of scrolling, he just held it in his hand, looking at the screen as if waiting for a message. This seemed to push Jane over the edge. She started talking even faster and louder. She brought up all the rules, all the reasons he was wrong, and how disrespectful young people were these days. She said she was going to call the park rangers if he didn’t move immediately. Her voice was really carrying now, and a few other people stopped to watch, trying to look like they weren’t watching.
Just then, the young man’s phone rang, a loud, cheerful tune that broke through Jane’s lecture. He answered it right away, holding the phone to his ear and turning his head slightly away from Jane, as if she wasn’t even there. He said, “Hey! Yeah, I’m here. Just waiting.” He sounded completely relaxed. Jane stopped mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open for a moment. She looked completely furious that he would just answer his phone in the middle of her telling him off.
She took a step closer to his car, her finger pointing at him. “Are you serious right now?” she practically shouted. “You are breaking the law, you are being rude, and you’re going to ignore me?”
The young man held up a finger, still on the phone. “One second,” he said into the phone, then to Jane, in the same calm, overly polite voice, “My sister’s here. I’m just picking her up. We’ll be out of your way in just a moment. She’s probably just walking up right now.” He said this while looking past Jane, towards the path where people usually walked up from the parking lot. It was hard to tell if he was telling the truth or just saying whatever he needed to say to make her stop.
Jane, however, was not convinced. “I don’t care who you’re picking up!” she shrieked. “This is not a parking spot! You are holding up traffic! I’m calling someone right now!” She fumbled in her purse for her own phone, her face bright red. Her husband, looking utterly defeated, just took the picnic basket and quietly walked around the car, trying to find another way to their table without adding to the drama.
At that exact moment, a grey minivan pulled up behind the blue sports car, clearly wanting to use the loading zone. It was obvious the minivan driver was annoyed, but also confused by the loud argument unfolding. This was my chance. I closed my book, slowly stood up, and tried to look as small and unnoticed as possible. I had a quick appointment to make for something important, and I really didn’t want to get caught up in the rising storm of Jane’s anger. I could still hear her voice getting louder as I walked away, but I didn’t turn back. I kept walking, heading towards the exit, focusing on the sounds of the waves instead.
I never saw how it ended. Did the young man’s sister show up? Did Jane actually call someone? Did the young man finally move his flashy blue car? I don’t know. But as I hurried away, trying to escape the lingering sound of her angry voice, I found myself feeling a strange pity for the young man. He was probably arrogant and a little thoughtless for parking where he did, but nobody deserved to be shouted at like that, especially when he was trying so hard to remain polite, even if it was a forced politeness. He certainly seemed to be having a much worse afternoon than I was, even with my own appointment looming.
