But that’s not the only thing I was doing right? I was stoking the fires of injustice and feeling the violation of my space, the only cut curb anywhere near where we’d parked the car. So by the time I got to him I was in fight mode. I told him that the truck was parked over the disabled access point and that I couldn’t get to the ramp. But as I spoke there was a roar from the crowd attending the event and he smiled and said, “No I don’t think I can let you do that?” “What,” I asked.
The truck had a long and steep ramp, used to assist with getting the equipment on or off the ramp. He repeated himself laughing as he said that he didn’t think he could let me try rolling up the ramp. I said, “No, no, I was saying that the truck is blocking the accessible ramp and I can’t get down to the car. “Oh, sorry,” he said, “give me a second to organize and I’ll move the truck right away.”
And he did. He kept giggling about his mistake and kidding me about actually trying the steep ramp. There wasn’t a moment where I felt that he was resentful of all the work he had to do to move the truck. He had to move equipment that was leaning against it, he had to disassemble the ramp, he had to tie down some of the stuff in the truck. But he did it in good humour and I didn’t mind waiting in an atmosphere of ‘I got it, I get it, I’ll do it.’
And, of course waiting there allowed me the time to put out the fire that I’d set for a fight that I didn’t need to have. But you can’t tell before hand, can you, when it’s going to be needed.
The truck was moved, I got out, he called after me, “Sorry, man, thanks for your patience.” I gave him the thumbs up sign because it was all good.