Natalie Wilkinson+FollowI Moved the Branch. Just Not for Her.After a bad storm, I hit a downed limb on my drive to work. Big enough to block the road. I figured I could drag it to the side. It was still raining. Roads slick. And she’d been tailgating me for miles—shiny car, hands gripping the wheel like I was wasting her time. I’m halfway through dragging the limb when she honks. Not a quick beep. A judgy one. I pause, gesture at the literal tree in front of me. She throws up her hands like I’m the problem. I wrestle the thing off the road—sort of. It ends up right in front of her car. The thick end. Blocked again. I didn’t meet her eyes. Just got in my car, soaked and irritated, and drove off. She didn’t move. Neither did the branch. I still feel a little bad. But not that bad. #PettyJustice #RainyDayRage #NoFilter61Share
sarah11+FollowHe Stole the Washers. I Took My Time.There’s an unspoken rule in shared laundry: don’t disappear. If your cycle ends, you come back. Not Basket Guy. Every Saturday, he hijacked three washers and vanished for hours. Left his baskets on top too, so no one could move his stuff without feeling rude. We left notes. Nothing changed. Last weekend, I found his cycles finished—ten minutes ago. Still no sign of him. So I emptied every washer. Folded his damp clothes. Sat down beside the dryers with a book. And waited. Forty minutes later, he walked in like he owned the place. Stopped cold. I smiled. “Of course, you always are.” Then I loaded all four dryers—with my clothes. His stayed folded on the table. His baskets? Moved to the locked Lost & Found. No key. No access. He hasn’t tried it since. And me? I do laundry with a lot more peace now. #PettyJustice #LaundryWars #AdultingFail334Share
