I like to think of myself as a polite and courteous person. But on this day, somehow I slip up. I step into the elevator at Whole Foods and press the button for the parking garage. Just then, I hear the patter of hurrying feet. Someone is trying to catch “my” elevator. The doors start to close, and in that instant, I debate: Do I hold the doors or feign trying and let them close so I can enjoy eight seconds of glorious peace all to myself? The person’s face suddenly appears in the shrinking gap of the doors. She is not happy. Guilt – or panic, I’m not sure which – jerks my finger to the arrows button. Wrong arrows. Through a one-inch slit, I hear, “Nice!”
Feeling emboldened with the doors closed, I fire off my retort, “Thank you! Have a nice day yourself!” But she isn’t done. “I love you too, BUDDY!” What? Buddy? Then a metallic THUNK. Did she just kick the door?
Suddenly, I’m not focused on my little elevator meditation time. Now I just want the damn thing to get to my floor. Fast. The doors finally open, and I high-step it to my car. Sure, I admit it, I’m a little afraid. It was a THUNK, after all. Heavy-sounding, if you know what I mean.
I throw my bag of groceries into the passenger seat, and my tomatoes spill onto the floor. I close the door and scooch down behind the wheel. And I wait. A grown man, scooching.
Then I see her. Her! She walks with purpose, looking around. For me? Gulp. More scooching. She finally leaves. I muster the courage to start my car and head out of the garage. The coast is clear, for now.
Next stop: Home Depot. As I drive to the Smart Centre, I think to myself, “That was close.” I park in my usual spot – far away from everyone else, just on the other side of the road from the new Farm Boy. Too far from Home Depot for most people, and too inconvenient for Farm Boy. In other words, just far enough for my car to be safe from dings, dents, and dummies.
I leave the orange Two-Hundred-Dollar-A-Visit-Store and start walking the three kilometres to my car, just as someone pulls in right beside it. “What the heck…?” I think. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I was convinced as I am now, someone who sees my lone park job is messing with me.
I approach, and the driver is getting out. I can’t resist. “Okay, I have to ask. I purposely park a million miles from anywhere, and there are a ton of empty spots closer to the store. So why beside me?”
The guy looks at me and calmly says, “You know why? Because when I see a car parked like this, I know the driver cares about their car. And if they’re crazy enough to care that much, they’ll take care not to hurt mine.”
I just stare at him. Aside from the “crazy” label, the logic is sound. I like his thinking.
“Marry me?” I ask.
The guy laughs, and we commiserate. Just then, a car pulls up on the road between Farm Boy and Home Depot and stops abruptly.
A woman’s voice yells out from the open side window, “I see you!” Immediately, sphincters close and pores open. I can’t see her face, but I recognize that voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s Elevator Lady! She speeds off.
The guy looks at me. “Do you know her?”
“No,” I reply, “but it sounds like she’s got a beef with you.”
“Me?”
“Maybe you parked too close to her somewhere? You should move your car in case she comes back.”
“Nice try.”
“Okay, you play the odds,” I challenge, as I start walking over to Farm Boy. Just before I enter, I look back and see the guy pulling away. Perfect! It worked. Guess this means we aren’t getting married, though, and Elevator Lady still knows what I look like.
