Floored

Just the other day I had some time to spare between getting off work and picking up my daughter after school.  I drove on over to the nearest gas station to grab some drinks for the ride home, and after parking the car I flung open my door and then leaned over to the passenger's seat to grab my purse.  As I was doing so my heavy door started to swing shut.  I stopped it with my foot and thrust it back open (as it takes me a ridiculously long amount of time to gain enough leverage to heft my ridiculously heavy purse up and over to my shoulder--while in the sitting position).  Once again the door would not remain open and swung back with a vengenance resulting in yet another kick from me.  When I finally emerged from my car I saw that a man in a truck was patiently waiting to pull in to the spot next to me.  He was pointing and his mouth was moving in an animated fashion.  Uh-oh.  Immediately I was convicted of being one of "those people" who I point and mouth at...you know...the ones who take FOREVER to get out of their car, turn the corner, or back out of a parking space.  The odd thing was that this man was smiling.  I felt compelled to walk over to him ignoring all the internal voices shouting "stranger danger" to me. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I immediatly began to plead.  But the gentleman (yes, now he is a gentleman) politely laughed and told me he thought I was his friend "Jerry" who drives the same kind of car that I do.  He thought Jerry was just messing with him on purpose--ha.  I then went on to tell him that I thought he may be pointing to my open gas tank or a possible flat tire.  Fortunately neither of these things occurred and as he and I walked toward the station's front doors he told me "Life is too short to be in a hurry." 

Relieved that our encounter was a pleasant one I paid for my bottled waters and rushed back out to my car (life may be too short to be in a hurry but when the school bell rings and the parent line backs up and you have to pick up two children at two different schools at the same exact time...well...life's too rushed to slow down sometimes).  In my haste I quickly clicked the unlock button on my key fob and flopped into the driver's seat.  As my purse was being flung up and over to the passenger seat I could not believe what I was seeing...someone had stolen my floor mats!  (take a look at the above picture and you'll understand that I wasn't so surprised that I was a victim as I was stunned at the fact that someone would want my country-fied floor mats---caked with caliche, chicken schtuff, and who knows what else).  And then the eyes of clarity descended on the fact that not only were my floor mats stolen...but so was all of the trash that thrives in my car!  The used tissues, the crumpled papers, the permission slips, the broken pencils, the empty water bottles, the hair brushes.....all of it....GONE!  Instantly I was shocked that my car could look so clean...and then I began to register the smell of the car....something wasn't right....OMG!  I WAS SITTING IN SOMEONE ELSE'S CAR!!!!!  I felt like I had landed in the Goldilocks and the Three Bears story...."....and she's STILL HERE!"  My mind started going into overdrive as I began recalling the fact that there were two policemen inside the station...my biggest fear, being wrongly convicted, was getting ready to happen...any minute the car's owner would see me sitting in the driver's seat and yell to the two cops, "SHE'S STEALING MY CAR!!!  AFTER HER!!!"  I grabbed my purse like it was a tiny clutch weighing next to nothing (suppose it must have been the adrenaline) and the mother side of my brain scolded the owner of the vehicle for not locking his doors.  I ran two or three cars over and jumped into my car.  I was relieved to see that all of my trash was intact and that, yes, my dirty floor mats were still there waiting for my return.  I made my getaway without so much as a police chase and I am now living under an assumed name in an undisclosed location.