Chapter 2

The community SnapChat, an online community of hundreds of strangers, had, in that moment, become Karen’s personal stage.

Like an actress suffering an immense grievance, she tearfully accused me of "atrocities."

She screenshot our chat history about me asking her to move her car and posted it in the group.

But she was clever enough to only include my polite "Please move your car," omitting the half-hour I waited and the fact that she had read but not replied.

Slandering others was her specialty.

She @mentioned everyone, typing in a tone of indignant fury.

"Everyone, look at this! All because of this, he called me three times like a madman, and even went to the property manager to complain! Making such a big deal out of 'ownership' – is it really necessary? Our complex is so big, and the spot was empty. What's wrong with helping each other out? We're neighbors, aren't we? Shouldn't we look out for each other? But people these days, they have no human decency!"

Her performance was a success.

Immediately, a few familiar IDs—her usual crew from the neighborhood, probably her coffee buddies—jumped in to back her up.

"Exactly! Karen, don't bother with him. Men like that are always so petty, no class!"

"A grown man squabbling with a woman over a parking spot, so embarrassing!"

"Alex, is it? Young man, don't be so impulsive. It's better to be friendly with your neighbors."

Each seemingly conciliatory remark, actually designed to take sides, felt like a blunt knife slowly carving into my nerves.

I stared at the phone screen, my fingers hovering over the cold glass for a long time.

Then, I calmly opened my photo album.

I uploaded every single photo from the past two weeks, documenting each time she had illegally occupied my parking spot.

I screenshot my three call attempts, clearly marking the times they were disconnected.

I also uploaded the video I'd taken in the property management office of Mr. Henderson's call with her.

Finally, I added a single sentence.

"@Karen, is this what you call 'just parking for a bit'?"

The evidence was undeniable, the logic crystal clear.

I thought, *now she'll have nothing to say*. But I had utterly underestimated her shamelessness.

The group chat fell silent for a few seconds.

Then, Karen immediately flared up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Completely ignoring my evidence, she cleverly shifted the topic and launched into a personal attack.

"What do you mean?! You're taking pictures of me?! Recording me?! You're a single man, always alone, so dark and gloomy – who knows what your intentions are! Are you trying to pull something on me?!"

That accusation, a dirty, heavy weight, was flung at me.

"The spot was empty anyway, I thought I was 'warming it up' for you, to keep the dust off. And you're not happy about it? Seriously, I was doing you a favor, and you're treating it like I just insulted your mother!"

"Warming it up"?

Her bizarre logic actually made me laugh, a bitter, humorless laugh.

Just then, a new profile picture popped up. It was Karen’s husband, Chad.

He sent a voice message to the group, his voice slurred with alcohol and an air of condescending arrogance.

"Alex, is it? This is Chad, Karen's husband. Young man, don't be so petty. It's just a parking spot, why make such a scene? Tell you what, I'll PayPal you two hundred dollars for parking tomorrow, and we'll call it even. No need to act like enemies when we see each other in the elevator."

Two hundred dollars.

A pathetic handout.

His tone, trying to buy my silence, disgusted me more than any direct insult.

My fury, at that moment, ignited completely.

I typed my reply, word for word.

"First, this parking spot is my private property. Not for rent, not for sale. Second, please instruct your wife to move her car from my spot immediately. Third, if you want respect, earn it yourself. Don't expect me to give it to you."

My reply was like a depth charge, blowing up the group chat.

Chad probably hadn't expected me to talk back so directly.

He didn't say another word.

But Karen completely lost it.

She unleashed a barrage of the most vile, venomous insults in the chat, flooding the screen.

"You scumbag! Will guarding that pathetic parking spot make you rich or help you breed?!"

"You ungrateful piece of trash! Who do you think you are?!"

"I think you're a pervert! You deserve to have no wife! You deserve to be single your whole life!"

On the phone screen, those filthy words crawled up like maggots.

The group chat was dead silent.

No one came forward to "mediate" anymore.

They were all silently lurking, enjoying the online lynching Karen was unilaterally performing.

I watched the insults, not replying a single word.

Because I knew, arguing with a madwoman was the most foolish thing in the world.

I calmly exited the community SnapChat.

Then, I opened my browser and, in the search bar, calmly typed three words.

"Junk car."

What I wanted was never an argument or an explanation.

What I wanted was for her, and for them, to truly, unequivocally, feel what despair tasted like.

**[PAYWALL]**

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