You are the driver who forced me to slam on my brakes and lock them up in the rain when you suddenly stopped in front of me in the middle of a Ball Road green light so you could quickly steer your packed van toward the Disney resort. Having worked in the Disneyland parking lot back when it had a parking lot, I am used to tourist drivers leaving their brains at home. Co-workers who'd nearly been run over even made up a song with the chorus "Am I a ghost? Park here, not there." Congratulations on keeping that stereotype un-dead.
Email anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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