How is it that I can be one of the most timid drivers on the face of the earth, spending most of my time behind the wheel horrifically uncomfortable and certain death is imminent and, as a result, being generally too anxious to learn how the car works and maneuver it properly . . . and yet parallel park in tiny spaces as smoothly as James Bond
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Must be hereditary. My dad is that bastard who ruins other people's days by squeezing into the impossibly small spot behind them so they can't get out without a panic attack. But of course, he can, no problem.
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