Reaffirmation in ... Some Higher Power

Whether you believe in God or not, the kind of experience like I had today leads you to believe ... well, there's gotta be something out there looking out for us mere mortals.

I went to the grocery store three times today, the first by myself, the second with Belle to get ingredients for the dinner Addie was making, and the third another solo run to grab the stuff I'd forgotten (cream cheese and tortilla chips, in case you're wondering).

While waiting in line yet again, I managed to drop my keys.  Twice.  The first time, I bent down and picked them up (this is not uncommon ... I am the world's biggest klutz and drop everything).  The second time, though, the old man in front of me bent and snagged them.

"Here you go, miss," he said, handing them back to me.  "Maybe I'll share some of my luck with you."

"Thanks, I'll probably need it," I said, laughing.  He waved as he headed toward the door.

And then the cashier scanned my cream cheese and Hannaford tortilla chips, I paid, she thanked me kindly and wished me a good day, I wished her the same, and that was that.

Until I got outside, where I saw the little old man, my little old man, wrangling with a shopping cart (odd, since he'd bought a couple of cans of tuna or something) at the front of the parking lot.  I contemplated walking up to him, taking the cart, telling him I'd bring it back, no problem, but then I remembered my grandfather, who was an incredibly proud man and would have been insulting at someone insinuating that he couldn't handle getting a grocery cart back to the front of the store, so I held my tongue.

Still, I stopped and watched him for a long moment, struggling with his cane but trying desperately, you could tell, to do the right thing so some poor schlep that gets paid minimum wage wouldn't have to do it.  It sort of made me tear up, not gonna lie.

As I walked behind the first car in the row, it started backing up.  Quickly.  Nobody tells you how fast these things happen, but I was running (like, all-out sprinting) to get past this stupid, clueless fool before he could hit me (he drove one of those huge old boat-like Cadillacs, and it seemed to go on forever).  I didn't have time to yell, "Stop!"

I made a gesture to him that was not a wave, but I was wasting my time; if he'd been so oblivious that he'd somehow missed almost mowing me down with his stupid boat-mobile, I doubt he'd have picked up on a little bird flickage.

It didn't occur to me until I was back in my car that I could have been badly injured (I was wearing flip flops and shorts, not running shoes), and I just started shaking.  But then I had an even bigger realization, and that made me burst out crying.

If I had walked up to the old man who'd so kindly picked up my keys and taken the shopping cart from him, said, "I'll bring it back to the front, no problem", he would have been behind that heedless Cadillac ... and I'm pretty sure he would have been hit.  The cane was obviously not for show, and he moved slowly and with great effort (but with an absolutely beautiful smile on his face).

As he passed by me crying in my car, he waved, and then he headed for the carriage corral, where he started wheeling shopping carts one by one to the front of the grocery store.

It was a surreal experience in every sense of the word ...

Traumatized by a Nutjob in a Parking Lot

You know how sometimes the things that make you unspeakably happy, terrified beyond belief, and so angry that you don't know what to do are often lost in translation when you try to explain them? I suspect that this is going to be one of those times. It's coming off sounding stupid and maybe even a little funny when I write it down, but I will never forget how upset I was yesterday.

Okay, so I went to the grocery store yesterday afternoon to get peaches (I had a craving) and Swedish fish (because Addie had a craving). I pulled into the parking lot and noticed that it was crowded. Very crowded. It's been my observation that people (myself included) tend to drive like idiots in a parking lot, so I was automatically paying close attention.

Grocery store parking lots theoretically follow the rules of the road--namely, you're on the right side of the road, you use your blinker to let your intentions known, and so on.

I was driving down the last parking section (I'm telling you--ridiculously busy) when I passed a spot on my right that I didn't notice until I was just past it ... and there was a truck coming the other way that had his blinker on. I assumed he was going for the spot I'd driven by, so I put my left blinker on and pulled into the empty slot at the end of the row of cars.

And looked into my rearview mirror to see the truck almost hit me. Evidently his blinker was supposed to serve as fair warning that he was planning on reversing into the parking spot I pulled into ... and I guess I should have had ESP to figure that out since it was his LEFT blinker and there was an open parking spot on his LEFT as I drove past him.

It scared me a little bit, but I was like, "Eh, whatever." I mean, if I got all worked up every time there was a near fender bender in the grocery store parking lot, I'd be pretty strung out.

So I'm sitting in my car replying to an e-mail I'd gotten on my BlackBerry when all of a sudden there was this pounding on the window of my car. Like, "could-have-broken-the-glass" level pounding.

I opened my window to hear this guy scream in my face (with a spit shower, which made it somehow worse), "Didn't you see me backing up? You almost hit me!"

I was shaking and scared. "No, sir, I saw you going straight that way, and I was going straight this way, so I--"

"You stupid fucking bitch!" he roared, then marched off.

And I just went to pieces. I sat in my car and cried for probably ten minutes, then I went to a different grocery store and got a peach and candy bars for my kids (since they didn't have Swedish fish). Andy called, and I let it ring because I was so unbelievably shaken up.

The thing is, if he had came up, knocked gently on my window, and said, "You know, could you try to be a little more careful next time?", I would have been okay with it. I would have disagreed with his evident impression that every driver in America has to follow a "Yield to Blue GMC pick-up, New Hampshire license plate #147 84-- because he is the king of the road" clause that I never learned about in driver's ed, but I would have just nodded, smiled, and apologized, because that's how I roll.

I hate confrontation, and I especially hate that I can think of a million things I could have done differently after the incident was over. I should have gone into the store and talked to a manager. I should have called the police. I should have made some sarcastic, cutting remark about the clause that should clearly be taught in driver's ed.

But instead I cried like a baby.

The reasons that this affected me so viscerally:

1. The man was 10-15 years older than I am. I am still young enough (heh) that I have a certain amount of automatic respect for "my elders". The idea that someone in an age demographic that has my respect just for being in that age demographic would consider my respect so cheaply just ... traumatized me. And if I were a different kind of person, it might make me reconsider that respect that prior to this I gave 100% freely. I'm me, so of course this won't happen, but it sort of made me realize why so many people in the world are bitter, suspicious, and negative.

2. I am neither stupid nor a bitch. I know what my I.Q. is (it's in the "superior range"), I have a graduate degree, and I am a teacher. I am also in general a kind, giving, self-sacrificing person (I have my faults, but those things really are true). What right did he have to insult me using such inflammatory (and, in my case, blatantly false) words? It just made me feel like vomiting.

3. Angry, violent men turn me to Jello. I spent much of my childhood scared to death of my father's anger--just to give one example, the window of our oven was broken for quite some time because my dad got so mad that he slammed the oven door. I lived in fear of slammings, bangs, and crashes when I was a kid (the fact that I've ended up with far too many violent, angry men of my own volition is kind of a warped irony, I suppose). Anyway, that fist pounding on my window was like a time machine, and I was suddenly three years old again.

Again, I know that the true horror this was for me is cheapened by words. Sometimes this is the case ... several years ago, my brother, sister, brother-in-law, and I jumped off a moving train (yes, a real train). It's a hell of a story and I usually end up telling it to my students at one point or another (usually when I'm having them write about peer pressure) and they think it's just hysterically funny. However, I've tried to write it down probably a dozen times or so, and it just doesn't work as a written chronicle (or maybe I'm not a good enough writer, I don't know ;-)).

Anyway, that's a really weak retelling of what was probably in the top five in terms of traumatic events in my life.

I will never, ever forget it.