Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat, Weekend Edition on January 27, 2012
Ever have that feeling of impending doom? I should have had it that day.
I should have been driving home and spending money cautiously, but instead I was wasting time and about to waste money on eating lunch at “Tara Thai” in Charlottesville. To accomplish this, I first needed to squeeze my massive vehicle into a tight parallel parking spot. With lunchtime and ongoing construction in the area, spaces were limited.
My maneuvers were ridiculous and complicated. I could barely see the car parked behind me. All this, just to have a “last lunch” together with my second daughter at UVA. Suddenly, there was tapping at my window. A uniformed soldier had walked into the street to offer verbal instructions for me to finish the parking job. I rolled down my window.
A godsend! Here was constructive assistance, far better than what I usually give. My bellowed advice usually contains helpful phrases like “Watch out!” or “Hey, hey, hey…be careful!”
I give the vague advice of politicians running for office. “I will drive this country better than my esteemed competitor, who is actually a vile worm, and I have the infomercials to prove it.” Response: cheers and thunderous applause. “This Nitwit Numbskull, whom I am too much of a statesman to call by name, will very likely drive us off this perilous cliff.” Response: jeers. “But I will steer our nation confidently back on the path that will please God and appease the restive souls of our Founding Fathers.” Response: climactic applause with a standing ovation. “To do this, my good people, I need your votes, and more importantly, your financial support.” Response: flashing smiles, flashing cameras, and flashing checkbooks.
Here, instead, was a member of the military, or perhaps a woman whose fashion sense incorporated khaki digital camouflage and the accompanying brown boots. She was going to guide me step by step.
I hoped my daughter would take note: Maternal sacrifice for the eggplant eating bliss of someone who had once been an egg inside of me. “Thank you!” I shouted in relief. “I’m glad I didn’t realize how close that car was behind me, or I might have hit it just out of nervousness.”
“Actually,” the female soldier said, “you just did. I figured you needed help.”
Great. This was just great. My cash and time expenditures were going to exceed all plans. I gave my daughter an accusing look. Hadn’t I said this lunch thing was a bad idea? Maybe I hadn’t said so, but I had thought it, hadn’t I?
This was when we were trying to reduce our expenses. I already felt guilty about splurging even ten dollars on lunch. Now I had hit a car in the effort to do so. I had stupidly not even felt the impact, but I had loads of witnesses seated outside the Panera right next to the tiny Thai restaurant. It had beckoned us, like a Siren, with its promise of spicy eggplant. Just like the ill-fated sailors of Greek legends or the recent cruise ship captain, I was oblivious to the treacherous “rocks.”
A better driver could have parked there. I should never have attempted it. Once or twice, I have braved a single parallel spot in Old Town Warrenton where the street seems wider and the spaces seem longer. After I have held up traffic for a couple of minutes, my right rear tire ends up trying on the feel of high heels while it is perched on the curb. Then, too late, I wonder whether it was really worth it. Why hadn’t I just parked behind the Post Office, in the area designated for daft drivers?
My daughter looked at me sympathetically, but quickly vindicated herself with, “I told you it was okay – I would have eaten at Runk.” Runk is the curious name of a dining hall that lends itself to jokes about being rank. Runk also rhymes with stunk, but at least it does not require parallel parking. Actually, I have eaten there, and the food is just fine. But then again, I’m no food critic. I like almost any food I haven’t had to prepare myself.
I rushed to inspect the car behind me. There was no damage except a black smear from my bumper. I left a note with my information on a neon-green sticky note on the driver’s side window.
I debated with myself. Was it really necessary? I had barely tapped that car. I decided to be a good role model for my driving daughter. Also, there were lots of witnesses, several being uniformed military personnel. Why take chances?
The Thai eggplant dish was as delicious as usual, but who could enjoy it? Guilt mars the taste of pleasure. I kept checking the street for the owner of that car. I fired up my Dell Mini to start homework, but got the faintest, feeblest Wi-Fi signal from Panera. It was like trying to detect signals from alien life forms.
Then, I tipped my glass and spilled some water in my lap. What? Did someone have a voodoo doll of me? I should have headed home and put myself down for a nap. But the weirdness of the day had only just begun. Stay tuned.
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