I meant to post this yesterday after reading Snarky_A's Totally Awkard Tuesday entry but never got around to it. I wrote this up for a class at some point but I can't remember the context.
This particular Saturday was not a good day. I woke up earlier than I really wanted to because I had a load of errands to run. Before even leaving the house I had managed to spill coffee on my shirt, step on a cat, and rip a contact lens. Instead of heeding these warnings, I threw on a fresh shirt and took off for the mall.
A little retail therapy goes a long way in making a girl feel better and by the time I made my way back to my car, red patent leather pumps and black skirt in hand, I had mostly forgotten the earlier chaos.
That's when I saw it. A beat-up Ford something (it would have to be a Ford) with the passenger door flung wide open and obviously smashed into the driver's side door of my Honda. The perpetrator was still hanging out the door, digging through his glovebox.
My earlier aggravation returned, tenfold. I stormed up to the man. "Look what you did to my car!" I shouted.
He poked his head out the door, looked at the metal on metal, and grunted an uncommitted "sorry" while yanking his door clear of my car and revealing a horrific wound of red paint on the perfect field of silver that had been my door.
This was the point at which I lost my temper. I'm not proud at the amount of commotion and racket I heaped upon this man. I started demanding an apology and his insurance information. As soon as I mentioned insurance and damages, his face paled and eyes grew large. While hunting for my cellphone to call the cops, mall security pulled up.
Apparently, I had created a scene.
I explained to the nice rent-a-cop that this man had damaged my vehicle and didn't want me to call the police. He took one look at the door and said I should get my registration and insurance card while he called in the police to take an actual report.
As he returned to his SUV, I walked around to the passenger side of the Honda, pressing the remote to unlock the door. However, the car refused to unlock.
My first thought, which I now realize was faulty, was that the man had somehow caused so much damage to my car that the remote no longer functioned. I stood at the passenger door, pointing the remote and hitting the button harder and harder, as if it would make a difference.
That is when I looked closer at the car and noticed the baby seat in the back. Why was there a baby chair in my car when I don't have a baby?
Because it wasn't my car. I did a quick scan of the surrounding area and spotted my car, an identical silver Honda (minus the seating for small children and gaping flesh wound) parked about four cars further down the row.
If I could have a super power, it would be the ability to open a hole in the ground and disappear noiselessly into the depths beneath.
With as much dignity as I could muster, I quietly made my way over to the nice mall security man. In a low voice, I admitted the truth. "It's not my car."
He looked up, puzzled. "What was that?"
I cleared my throat and scuffed at the ground with the toe of my boot. "Not my car. My car's down there."
To his credit, he did try to keep a straight face. I'm not sure I would've been able to in his shoes. Before long, it was too much for him and he burst out laughing much the way one gasps for breath after trying to conquer the hiccups.
He said it was pointless for me to stick around any longer but thanked me for preventing a hit and run situation.
I have to believe I did a good thing. Still, I couldn't quite bring myself to apologize or even look the guy in the eye as I shuffled off towards my car.
“Please, great parking lot, part beneath me that I may save myself from this Walk of Shame.”
Super powers indeed.