Asked to move. Again.

 Home is where you park it - unless they tell you to move. Finding a place to camp is always a bit of a challenge in a converted bus. 

Home is where you park it - unless they tell you to move. Finding a place to camp is always a bit of a challenge in a converted bus. 

Last night, we lit incense and closed the windows. Then, began watching some unmemorable show. It was nearing bedtime, so approximately 8pm. We both had beers that evening, and then a knock came to our doors. I say doors because when we push the button on the dash, the two rotating doors open outward. At that moment, a bit of incense smoke came out into the street light and I saw the security guard whom had knocked. My consciousness at this moment had been reduced to ten second intervals due to my level of intoxication, on an average work night. These brief ten second bursts made it difficult to follow extensive or multi dimensional conversations. Then the security guard began talking, and I had to grab hold of that dump truck as it passed, or it would leave me on the curb and nothing says drunk like a delay in reply.

From that moment, all I can remember is seeing all the smoke land in his face, and later down the conversational line, him asking, “Is there a baby in there?!” To which I believe I stomped, flung my hair and shouted back, “What?! Is that a factor in you deciding we can stay?” See, he was attempting to kick us out of the parking spot we had been claiming for the past week. Something we had done for several weeks only a few months prior, without any confrontation.

I then became combative in my tone, as my much loved bathroom stall and water source were in the process of being repossessed.

At this point in the conversation, I had already accepted defeat. Once you get the notification that they want you out, it is only a matter of time. But, defeat did not mean that I wasn’t going to take my week out on this guy. He in that moment became each guy who came before him to either kick us out, make us re-park, or assume too familiar or dominant a position in the conversation so as to show us that he owns us and is the sole decider of our fate with the parking space in question. So I showed this current guy I didn’t like him or respect him. Yeah, he had a job to do, but how many times is history going to teach us that terrible people are just fulfilling their job requirements?

At this point, he recedes. Both of his hands went in the air and he said, “Eh! I’m not trying to be an asshole!” But still, leave now. We stayed another night, to spite him. And, then I spent the evening paranoid that he assumed the smoke was weed, that I appeared too intoxicated, that we can’t smoke in the parking lot at work, and that I would lose my job. Nothing happened. Then, we move