Yesterday I was leaving the grocery store and as I approached my car I thought to myself, “Huh! I don’t remember pulling through into that spot. How smart am I? I love pull through spots. Good work, Molly.” I get a weird sense of pride when I find a pull through parking spot, what can I say. It’s like a minor accomplishment in the day, worthy of a fist pump, even. Maybe.
I took out my key, inserted it into the lock…and stopped. I was standing next to my car, staring into the window and looking at a ton of stuff inside. Stuff that wasn’t mine.
I continued to stand there, key in the lock, staring. My brain would just. not. register. My car. Key in lock. Not my stuff.
I stood there longer than appropriate, probably looking deranged, especially since I was talking OUT LOUD TO MYSELF in the parking lot. “Wait, I don’t…this isn’t my…but I don’t under…”
Guys. It wasn’t my car.
It was an identical car to mine in make, model and color, but, um, not mine. Not even a little.
Even after I realized this, (after an embarrassingly long time) I continued to stand there with the key in the lock just…being. And still talking to myself! Why was I talking to myself? Out loud? In the parking lot? I have no idea. This time it was more along the lines of “but if this isn’t my car, where IS my car?”
My car was two rows over. Right where I parked it. In a non-pull through spot. Retracting that fist pump.
I was suddenly very aware of the situation and the mortification that could potentially go along with it, so I yanked the key out of the lock (for the record, I never turned it, so I don’t know for sure if my key would have opened someone else’s car. Let’s hope not.) and started to hustle back to my own. “Hustle” is a relative term here, as my hustle is more of a waddle at this point.
I happened to look back over my shoulder just as I scooted into the next row, and noticed the owner of the car quickly approaching. Oh no! Did he see me? Did he think some giant round woman was trying to hijack his car?
I didn’t want to find out. I turned back around and booked it back to my car, two rows over, not filled with someone else’s stuff and sadly, not in a pull through space.
Then I sat there and laughed at myself until Michael happened to call me and I retold the whole story.
He thought I was nuts.