Mr. Crabby Pants Part 2

Some of you may remember our old neighbor in Phoenix who I nicknamed Mr. Crabby Pants. For those of you who don't know ... Summer 2003 Curt and I had an intern living with us for the summer. We didn't have a driveway so the three of us had to park on the street. Our street had permit parking, which Curt and I had to pay every year. I come home one day from running errands. Mr Crabby Pants comes out. I think, how nice. My neighbor is coming out to say hello. (We were still kinda new to the neighborhood.) Mr. CP says, Can you girls not park in front of my house? Huh? Whatever, I don't want to cause issues with the neighbor. But um, I have every right to park right in front of his damn house if I want! He had the biggest driveway on the block. And I had to pay to park, he didn't.
Anyway, to my story about Mr. CP 2 ... So you know I have a rental right now--Nissan Altima. It is a lot bigger than our Volvo. So I haven't been parking in our back parking slab since it is kinda tight and I don't want to scrape up the rental. So I park on the street. I park today a few houses down from ours. I am getting out of the car. This old guy (Mr. CP 2) opens his door and is talking. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or someone else. He told me I should pull up 2-3 feet. I had the space. But the space I parked in there was no way another car could park behind me, no matter how much I pulled up. So I move the car up. He is still out there watching me telling me I should park somewhere else. I just yell, I can't and storm off. Hello!!! This is a street. I am allowed to park on it anywhere I damn well please.
I hope we get the Volvo back tomorrow. I mean, how long does it take to fix a bumper?