I just got back from the grocery store. A man in a giant SUV waited nearly ten minutes for my parking space. Granted, it was a good spot, the first one in the row as you exit the store, but ten minutes? He pulled up just behind me as I walked to my car with two grocery carts heaped full of bags and then sat there with his turn signal on, defying anyone to honk at him or try to usurp the little piece of land he’d claimed for his own. He waited while I found my keys, unbuckled Caleb, zipped up his coat, maneuvered him into his car seat, buckled him back in, found him a toy to play with, unloaded bag after bag after bag into my trunk from both shopping carts (carefully avoiding smushing the smushables or breaking the breakables), rearranged a few bags so the last one would fit, and walked first one and then the other cart back into the store.
The crazy thing is that a space just five cars down from me sat visibly open for the entire time Primo Parking Guy was waiting. 40 feet. He could have walked five feet a minute and made it to the entrance faster than he did by waiting on me. I didn’t even look up at him, for fear of meeting his eyes and coming face to face with whatever madness obviously lay within.
I was sorely tempted, after I finally got into the car, to sit there and balance my checkbook, file my nails, and maybe start next month’s shopping list, but I didn’t. Frankly, my car insurance isn’t that great.