The Bicycle-Spot Thief

Some creep usurped my parking spot. On a trip to my secret hideout, it’s easier to find a parking place for my car than for my bike. That’s because my hideout is in the basement of an old two-storey building full of single people, or young couples dooming their relationships by living too close together in studio apartments. You’re wondering what this has to do with parking, but if you would just shut up and keep reading you would see that I am about to tell you. Most of them drive their cars away to a job during the day, leaving the lot empty. But all the empty space in the world doesn’t provide a place to leave a bike if there’s nothing to lock it ONTO. Oddly, not a signpost can be found on the whole block. So I lock it to a pipe that comes down along side the telephone pole. About three months ago, someone locked his bike to my pipe, and there it still sits, through rain and sleet and snow. I’ve carefully checked the position of the lock for signs of movement and it never budges a millimeter. So not only has this thief occupied the only bike spot on the block, he’s an undeserving low-life who leaves his horse out in the weather day and night, 365. Meanwhile I am forced to lock mine to the short banister next to the stairway leading down to the hold of the ship. The only way to do it without incurring the wrath of the fire marshal is to crouch down and awkwardly hook the lock through my back wheel. Lock, unlock, lock, unlock, several times a day I am forced to undergo this cumbersome task while six feet away sits Mr. Neglectful Abusive Bike Owner who never lifts his potato off his couch. I plot my revenge daily.