There are moments when you just know you are growing as a person. This week that moment looked like this for me: I walked up to my car in a parking lot and clicked the opener button. I heard a faint beep. The faintness of this beep clued me in to the fact that the car beside me was not my car but a car belonging to someone else who also owns my make, color and model (for more on my general propensity to forget where I am parked, see here http://www.goodandawkward.com/lose-car-once-day-jealous/ ). Like a total baller, I walked away from the not-my-car and found my own car which was parked a few spots down. This made me feel totally productive. In fact, I was so high on life that I had no need to accomplish anything else for the rest of the day. The only thing to do at that point was to reward myself and binge watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta for several hours while eating brownies.
Now you are saying to yourself, “No big whoop. Your standards are too low!” But if you are saying that, it is because you do not know my history with accidental carjacking activities and it is important that I fill you in on this. The fact of the matter is, I have been the accidental carjacker of not one, but two people in the last few years because of my general propensity to return to a parking lot, find any car that looks like mine and get into it. So when I click my button, and recognize that a car is not mine before I choose to get into that car, I feel quite good about it. I start having visions in which I write a self-help book entitled How to Stop Scaring the Crap Out of Your Neighbors: An End to Accidental Carjacking Syndrome.
Before I become a famous self-help author, I feel I should elucidate my sordid past for you because I need to practice describing my “humble beginnings.” You cannot possibly understand how far I have come until you understand the depths from which I have risen. The first incident happened a few years ago. I had volunteered at my youngest daughter’s school and was parked somewhere in the school parking lot. I wasn’t paying much attention to what I was doing because I was attending to the important task of watching stupid videos on my cell phone. I walked to the parking lot and spied my car in the front row. As I was about to get in, I was horrified to note that a man was sitting in the front seat of my car! A shot of adrenaline surged through my body and I geared myself for confrontation. I approached the driver’s side door, opened it quickly, leaned toward the thief and yelled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY CAR!” I did this with great force and aggression because I wanted to use the element of surprise to my advantage! The man, who looked an awful lot like a suburban Dad, lurched back in shock and stammered, “Ummm….this…is….my……car!” Oh, this was a tricky dude! I leaned in more menacingly. He was trying to pretend that this was his car! It was a silver Buick Enclave wasn’t it? It had grey leather interior just like mine! It had a rosary looped around the rearview mirror and……wait…..I didn’t have a rosary on my rearview mirror! OH MY GOSH. THIS IS NOT MY CAR. I slowly backed out of the car. “OK, sorry!” I said in my most chipper voice, acting as if the whole thing could be forgotten about with a shrug and a smile. I closed the door and sheepishly found my car parked two spots away. Then I got in and drove away as quickly as possible.
I would love to say that I learned my lesson the first time and that I never ever tried to get into another person’s car again. I would love to say that I stopped watching stupid videos on my cell phone and instead carefully checked the license plate number on my car each time I approached it after that. Instead, I have to tell you the truth. During the very next year, I had the audacity to do the same thing again in a way that denied the owner an even greater degree of dignity and privacy. I have “special skills” no? #Blessed! On this particular day, I was again volunteering at my younger daughter’s school and was parked in the school parking lot. I had parked in the front row and I made a beeline for my car as I watched “America’s Got Talent” highlights on my cellphone. I clicked “unlock” on my fob and heard a beep. I opened my car and got into the empty driver’s seat. I was about to set my phone down and put my keys into the ignition when I spied a nasty styrofoam cup of dried, crusty oatmeal in the cup holder. There were also some wrappers and crumpled papers on the passenger seat. “Oh my gosh,” I thought, “someone has put trash in my car! Do I have secret enemies? Did I piss off one of the alpha moms at school? Who would do this?” Then I noticed that my sunglasses were not hanging from the visor and that the car carried the faint smell of old Chipotle burritos. Once again, I had the horrifying realization that I was in SOMEONE ELSE’S CAR. To make matters worse, I had also been sitting there silently judging their trash. You have never seen someone get out of a car faster and race-walk their way to their real, actual car. I was like a perp escaping a crime scene!
I am sure you now see that I am not just a boring suburban mom in sensible skinny jeans and Ann Taylor sweaters. Oh no! I am a swirling black hole of accidental criminal tendencies. Give me a nice pair of ballet flats, a Starbucks grande decaf soy hazelnut latte, a video of toddlers dancing and I have all the tools I need to cause chaos and mayhem in my neighborhood. So last week, when I was able to approach a not-mine car and recognize that I did not own that car before pulling the handle, it was a big moment for me. It was also a really stellar moment for everyone in the community who owns my make and model of car. Your chances of getting accidentally carjacked by a woman in Lululemon leggings just went way down folks! Congratulations! Let’s celebrate with silly videos and brownies!
Amy says
Oh Amy I love starting my week off reading your blog❤
Charles Barnes says
What a great way to enjoy a Monday! You inherited your criminal tendencies [and love of brownies] from some strange and awkward branch of our family tree. Housewives of Atlanta! Really! Shouldn’t you be reading the Federalist Papers? Hugs, Dad