Driving into the parking lot of my workplace daily, there’s usually no open spots closest to the building. It’s okay. Exercise is good.
But what is funny is every time I’m rounding the curve, there’s the smoking section.
Judging me.
They always check out my car – their heads following me as I slow down to go over the speed bumps. Cigarettes in hand, their eyes scope me out as if to say, "You know you don’t have to park so close – you COULD walk".
My drive continues to the further spots away. I don’t mind parking further away, but it’s late when I leave the office – so rather than my car sitting by itself in the lot furthest away, I prefer to have it close by (still by itself)
Regardless, every time I see the people judging me I silently ask myself, "Were you the cool kid in school? Are you proud of your addiction – the one that probably costs more than the cup of Starbucks I drink? Does the amount of time you spend smoking get calculated as a break? Are your breaks longer than mine? Are your lungs black? Should you REALLY be doing that?"
Then parking commences, and I forget all about them.
