I’m walking to my car in a Raley’s parking lot. It’s about 6 p.m., dark, and cold. I shiver as an icy breeze picks up. Why oh why did I forget my jacket?
Suddenly, I notice a woman off to the left. Her car is parked across a grassy divide facing mine. She’s at her car, like I am now, only . . . What on earth is she doing? The woman isn’t getting into her car but, rather, is pacing beside it. From trunk to passenger’s side, to trunk to — Nope! Nope! she looks at the driver’s side — passenger’s side. She looks angry. Safely inside my car now, I realize what’s going on, and, I’ll be honest, start laughing. The lady has parked her car a little to the left in her parking space. The truck beside her is parked a little to its right. The lady is about 100 pounds overweight . . . She can’t get into her own car!
Every time the woman approaches the passenger’s side door, you can tell she’s contemplating climbing into the driver’s seat that way. But it’s like she’s too proud. She’d rather stand there fuming until the driver of the truck comes out so she can give him a piece of her mind . . . Never mind that she herself is parked too closely to him!
As I drive away, still laughing, watching the woman still pacing in my rearview mirror, I can’t help but muse, “Oh American woman of El Dorado Hills, life sure is tough, ain’t it?!”