Not Aristophanic irony but Morisettic irony

I took my time calling monshu back this morning. Not only did I know he was napping, but I also had to add minutes to my phone (must get a plan one of these days), which turned out to be less routine than expected. [Confidential to keyne: Want my SSN for confirmation? I'll learn you a think or two!] Before I could even hop in the shower to prepare for rendezvousing, I was distracted by a tremendous crash from the direction of the street. Not only was there no collision in the street, there weren't even any cars. Huh, sure sounded like was right outside my window.

It took a few moments to spot the sad victim at the apex of the ramp opposite. I'll probably never know why the automatic door of the parking garage across the street had decided to come down firmly on the hindquarters of an unfortunate compact. I expected to see figures perturbedly inspecting the damage, but there was only the forlorn flashing of a brake light, and then the car pulled forward, allowing the rest of the door to descend haphazardly, which led to more tinkling of broken glass. It was uncannily reminiscent of an Ogden Stiers scene from Better Off Dead.

By the time I left, there was still nobody visible. An SUV had backed within a car's length of the door, but it was unclear whether the driver planned to help or was just looking for someplace to idle in lieu of getting access to the garage. The attached apartment tower houses hundreds; I don't want to think how many residents were screwed by loss of the only exit on a sunny Saturday afternoon, of all days. That much Schadenfreude isn't good for any man.

Coming up: Earnest discussion of flowers!