Friday, I parked beside an ugly car at the bank. Ugly is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. This car was obviously new. A Chevy Camaro, I presume, but Val is not a gearhead. Muscle cars don't appeal to me enough to learn their looks. Anyhoo...this car was bright blue. A color that does not belong on a car. Imagine the color of Pepto Bismol, but blue instead of pink. It was like that. A little research points this shade to being called Riverside Blue, on the 2019 Camaro.
not the issue here, though. An ugly car is an ugly car. It's the lady
inside that I must discuss. She was sitting in the driver's seat when I
parked. A gray-haired lady. Perhaps a retired elementary school
cafeteria worker. You notice I didn't say cook. Anyhoo...at first
I didn't think much about her or her car. I parked T-Hoe in the middle
of the space, not even cheating over, because the car on my left had
left plenty of room for my door to open. I went inside the bank and did
When I returned, gray-hair was still
sitting in her Camaro, texting, with her window down. Again, I didn't
think much about this, though I'd noticed upon walking behind her car
that it was parked kind of cattywompus. Still within the lines, but with
the nose closer to T-Hoe, and the trunk farther away. At an angle, but
still within the lines.
You know how it is when you
come out of the bank after doing business. Sometimes there's some
housekeeping to do. Sort through a stack of money, perhaps. I was about
to do that, when I saw that gray-hair had gotten out of her Camaro. Oh.
Okay. I'd wait for her to walk inside. But she didn't! She stood right
there at T-Hoe's passenger window. I even looked over, thinking she
wanted to talk to me. Nope. She was just standing there, beside her
Camaro, by her door handle, with her face right at T-Hoe's passenger
window! Not really looking in. Not that I could catch her at, anyway,
when I looked over. She had her phone up. Texting. Or pretending to.
I WANTED SO BAD TO CLICK T-HOE'S DOOR LOCKS!
you know how I am. I didn't want to offend Grandma Nosey, by having her
hear those door locks, with her standing right there barely a foot away
from T-Hoe. I surreptitiously laid my stack of money on the armrest of
T-Hoe's driver door. So my gut and boobage, and the purse on my lap,
were between the cash and Grandma Nosey's line of vision. What in the
Not-Heaven was she doing? I would have backed out and counted my money
in a safer place, like an abandoned parking lot, if I'd thought I could
get out of that parking space without pinning Grandma Nosey between
T-Hoe and Camaro.
Something tells me Grandma Nosey has
done this before. Might even make a habit of it. Because she was wearing
one of those neon yellow plastic vests, like cops wear at an accident
scene! I still don't know what was going on there. But I do know this:
Ugly is definitely in the eyes of the beholder. Because a car parked on
the other side of the Camaro, a man got out, and said to Grandma Nosey,
I would have offended the heck out of Grandma Nosey without a second thought. Locked those doors and made a big show of staring her down as I wound up my windows. I never do my bank housekeeping in any car-parking lot. I do it inside the bank if there aren't many people around where I choose to sit, or I do it at home.ReplyDelete
My bank is a small branch. It has four teller windows, with one or two usually open for business. If more than two people are in a line, the third one blocks the door, and others are crammed in the vestibule or outside. A waiting area has four chairs, two facing two.Delete
I feel claustrophobic in there, even with walls of windows. I take my money and run!
You'd think Grandma Nosey could have found a better parking lot for texting. She must have anticipated the pull of my weirdo magnet.