What the hell is that?

I was up at the Chatswood Mall again this morning - may Allah curse the carpark there with the fleas of a thousand camels. Technologically, it is the most advanced carpark I have ever been in. There is a sensor above every car space and a light, so the central computer knows which spaces are occupied and which are empty, and there are signs at every intersection telling you how many spaces are free if you go left and how many are free if you go right etc.

Today, like most days after 10am, the signs all read "full". I love the technology. I hate the fact that they are short about 10,000 spaces to cater for the actual demand. The only way to get a spot is to spy a shopper that is leaving, tail them to their car and then sit there until they pack all their shopping and split. I had the pleasure today of being saddled with the world champion in slow car packing. How long should it take to lift six bags out of a shopping trolley and transfer them to your boot? 15 seconds? 20 seconds?

Try about 2 minutes. I swear this woman looked in every bag and ruffled the contents this way and that before taking it out of the trolley and putting it in her boot. I really felt like giving the trolley a nudge and sending it down the ramp to the next level of car park hell.

But that is not what I meant to write about. I could also write about the fact that the stupid car park is the only one in Sydney that does not label each row of car spaces. If I go to say Broadway, each pole has a big letter painted on it, so I just need to remember that I parked in row L on the pink level. At Chatswood, the car park is a convoluted mess, and there are no labels anywhere. I can now see why people can lose their car in a car park - I have gotten lost twice now, and the only way I found my car was to go back to the point in the mall where I got out of the lift and then retrace my steps.

I hate the place.

I was retracing my steps again today in an effort to locate the car when I almost ran over a blob that barely reached my hip. I didn't see the blob until the last moment as I was carrying a big plastic sandpit over one shoulder (like the Spartans in '300' with their shields) so I have some sort of excuse.

The blob turned out to be an obese dwarf. I am not kidding - perhaps morbidly obese dwarf would be more accurate. This person (sex indeterminate) was about half my height and double my weight. It's calves had that look of blubber infested with veins - you know that horribly unhealthy look that really fat people get?

I have to stop here. I want to have some icecream for dessert, but the thought of those fat legs and arms is really putting me off my dinner. I almost chucked into my mouth just then at the thought of the...ugh.

The sight of this dwarf blob was enough to make me forget about the other interesting thing that I spotted and wanted to write about. It will come to me eventually.