Recently, I drove down to the local Wal-mart to pick up some cold medicine. Parked my car in the crowded lot, and wandered in.
Approaching the front entrance, I saw a 25-ish blonde in a black velvet running suit (no one actually runs in those, do they?) get out of a new, black sporty-looking Volvo with very dark tinted windows and scoot in ahead of me. What grabbed my attention was that she parked in the red no-parking zone right in front of the entrance, turned on her blinking amber hazard lights, shut the door and tooted the car alarm on.
Giving her the benefit of the doubt, telling myself that maybe she was an employee dropping by for a paycheck or something, I noted where she went in the store, but noticed that, like me, she was headed to a section of the store away from employee only areas, instead clacking her high heels straight back to Ladies Shoes, where she immediately began rummaging through the bargains.
Not being the confrontational type, but wanting to right this obvious indiscretion on her part — I mean, who does she think she is? Too big of a deal to park in the lined parking spaces like the rest of us? — I walked to the shoe aisle next to hers and as I aligned myself in roughly the same position as her in the adjacent aisle, I flipped open my cell phone (in case anyone was watching) and began what was supposed to sound like the middle of an ongoing phone conversation. I stopped directly across from her, hidden by racks of shoes between her and me, and continued my end of the “conversation” in a louder voice:
“Yeah, you can say what you want about Wal-mart, but I tell you they are on top of things around here,” I projected. “I swear, some chick in a black Volvo just parked her car in front of the store, you know, in the no parking zone for old people? Yeah… right. And I swear it wasn’t 15 seconds and they already have a tow truck rackin’ her up!”
That was as far as I got, when on the other side of the aisle I heard a muttered common expletive layered over the sound of a box hitting the floor, and then fast and furious clacking heading toward the front of the store. I stepped around the endcap to catch a view as this no-more-pretense little princess-of-a-thing ran the 100 meters to the front doors in record time. She flung herself into her car, and pulled away heading for Peasant Parking.
Sometimes I kill me!