Mrs. HM Is Really Not Like That

I really don't know how I get myself into these situations.

Last weekend, I went to Country Mart solely for the purpose of picking up some scratch-off tickets from their vending machines. That's nothing unusual. I might do it once or twice a week. I have my favorite parking spots. Favorites, because they're away from other cars that might get too close, and make my re-entry into T-Hoe difficult.

On this day, my space at the very left end of the store was taken. So was the space at the end nearer the front, where the sidewalk juts out and makes a new end space for the row. As I drove down the next-to-last aisle, planning to park on the end of a regular row in the lot, by the lamp post, a car cut across and pulled into that one.

I swung T-Hoe across some empty spaces, faced him out so I wouldn't have to back up when I left, and parked in the near-middle of an empty row perpendicular to the store. There were four empty spaces to my left. I was pretty sure people would fill up the three closest to the store first. Not that Country Mart is ever that busy. I looked down to gather up my phone, and put my purse out of sight.

I'll be ding-dang-donged! Here came an electric-blue club cab pickup truck, eschewing the other three parking spots and the whole rest of the lot, and parked RIGHT NEXT TO ME!

Uh uh. I wasn't having it. All that room, and it had to get right up against T-Hoe! I started T-Hoe up again, pulled out forward, made a big loop to my right, and parked in the very last row, over by some weedy field at the edge of the parking lot. In the space on the end, looking out toward the entire parking lot.

As I slid out and prepared to close T-Hoe's door, I saw a man walking in from the blue pickup area.

Oh, dear! He was a minority! What if he thought my relocation of T-Hoe was racially motivated? Sweet Gummi Mary! How dare I! Now I had to act all nonchalant. Like that wasn't the reason I had moved.

Because it WASN'T!

I hadn't even looked inside that truck! I'd just left in disgust, because it parked too close with all that other room available. Now I looked, though, as I was walking in. Glanced. Didn't stare. I couldn't tell if there was a man or woman in the passenger seat. The cab was in shadow. I could see movement, but not who it was. I'm thinking a man, due to the size, and blockiness of the shoulders.

Great. Would he tell his buddy what I looked like? Like a dang racist?

Sigh. It's always something.

I got my scratchers from the machine and came out. I didn't see that guy inside. He'd gone in the food end door. As I was writing the code on the back of my tickets, so I'd remember where I'd bought them, I saw that blue truck guy come out.

AND PUT HIS BAGS IN AN ORANGE COMPACT CAR A ROW OVER!

WHAT? He wasn't even the guy who had parked that blue truck by me!

I breathed a sigh of relief. I took my meds that I save until I start driving home towards my very own private bathroom. And saw the true driver of the blue pickup truck come out and get in. She was about 5-foot 3-inches tall. A 20-something gal with long dark hair parted in the middle. Wearing jeans and a gray zip-front hoodie.

Huh. I guess I wasn't such a racist after all.

That dang electric blue club cab pickup truck followed me out of the parking lot. Through four stoplights. Then it made a left into Save A Lot. I'm really glad I didn't have any business at Save A Lot.