Parking lot murder

She comes out from the mall entrance at the basement carpark, carrying shopping bags and a gift basket from Crabtree & Evelyn. In her hand, her car keys.

All eyes are on her.
They follow her every move, wondering where her car is parked.

Beep-beep.

Ah, I am in luck.
Her car is parked 2 feet in front of mine.

After driving around for half an hour looking for a spot, it's about FREAKING time.

I quickly turn on my left indicator lights.
"This spot is MINE! Cars behind me, back off! It's MINE!"

The lady, well-dressed (in a senior manager way), loads her goodies into the boot of her new Mercedes Benz, taking her own sweet time. I try to make eye contact. She takes a quick glance but looks away, busy loading her boot.

"Okay, she's not the friendly type."

But never mind.
With my indicator still blinking, I wait. And wait.
A minute.
Two.
Three.
Four.

She slams her car boot.

Beep.

And FREAKING walks away.
Back to the mall entrance.

No apologies.
No acknowledgement of my existence.

For a brief moment I imagine her lifeless body under my wheels. And bloody red tyre tracks leading out of the car park.

I hope she trips on her stilettos.
Bee-yatch.