Witness for the Absolution

For a brief instant, I thought I might be on tonight's news. If I survived.

The Pony and I went on our weekly Walmart shopping spree this morning. Nothing of note happened inside the store. Unless, of course, somebody decided I was worthy of a guest appearance on People of Walmart. But I doubt it, because most of my fellow customers were old and dowdy, not young and smart-alecky. No, the real action was in the parking lot.

We had loaded our bounty into the back of the Tahoe, and The Pony was returning the cart. I climbed in and put the windows down. Then it happened. A horn tooted. Not so much tooted as bellowed like a foghorn. Again and again. Further up our parking row, a white car was backing out. A tiny red pickup truck was trying to drive past it without stopping. The trucker laid on the horn. The white car kept backing. Then it stopped. Pulled forward back into the space. The door opened.

I think my mouth was hanging open. I anticipated some foul language and possible violence. The truck stayed put. An elder gentleman with white hair climbed out of the car and started for the truck. I scanned both hands to make sure he didn't have a weapon. We were in the line of fire.

Elder Guy strode towards Trucker. I readied myself for flying F-bombs. Perhaps a flying tire iron. Fisticuffs. A duel. In the very least, a slap across the face with a pair of dress gloves.

But nothing happened!

Elder Guy went to the front bumper of the truck. "Did I do any damage?"

"I don't think so." Trucker climbed out and took a look. "No. It's good."

They both got back in their vehicles. Trucker drove up the parking aisle. Elder Guy backed out.

Don't that just beat all? A random act of civility! Cooler heads prevailed. Violence was not the answer. Lawsuits were not threatened. No harm, no foul.

This sudden turn of events does not bode well for my proposed handbasket factory.