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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1881076-Losing-It---Cramp-Entry-72112
Rated: 13+ · Monologue · None · #1881076
Musing on the loss of a vehicle in an uncomfortable place.
This is bullshit. I knew there was a reason I never shop at SaveMart. But out in Aberdeen, there isn’t exactly much choice when your sandals break and you need new ones. Now, staring over the vast sea of steel and fiberglass, I felt a desperate whimper bubble inside my diaphragm, waiting to cry out in front of all these idiots. These idiots that could remember where they parked. I hate them. Seething, I glaze over each row, trying to summon the familiar. It is in vain, every row looks the same, the place is packed, and there are waves of people in printed tees featuring such wisdoms as “Honey Badger Don’t Give a Shit” moving in to drown me in unrefined mediocrity. My elitism is quite offended, and I try to soothe it by saying that it is just 30 minutes away from an isolated beach cabin with my boyfriend. If only I knew how to move forward.

I am suddenly aware that I am losing my ability to think straight. A reasonable person in this situation could simply replay the shopping excursion backwards and retrace their steps to the lost vehicle. For myself, that would be too easy for me. No, my neuroticism and pride must be constantly tested, and my brain leads to all sorts of deeds I have done recently to make these spirits hide my ticket back to my vacation. Maybe I shouldn’t take vacation. A lot of people can’t even conceive of a vacation, and they work harder than I do. Maybe I don’t deserve a car at all, they are pretty bad for the environment after all. MAYBE, I do deserve a vacation and karma is delaying me because Alex is working up some great surprise for me when I get back. Maybe a romantic picnic on the beach. No, the beach is too cold, he wouldn’t want to sit for a whole meal. Maybe a nice cocktail and some clam chowder. Yum, clam chowder. I’d love some of that right now. Shit, I need my car!

A stand still a few moments longer while I let my superiority complex fight my pending panic attack. Panic slips a fast punch in and suddenly I feel a quiver in my eyes, as if I am witnessing some unspeakable act. But I choke it down, take a deep breath and just start walking. Focus. Focus. Focus. Okay. I think I am in the middle third of the lot, which must be 10,000 spaces long. This parking lot must brush the borders of Canada. How can anyone find their car here? Calm down. CALM DOWN, dammit. Is that a Hummer? Who drives those gas guzzlers these days? Idiots that shop at SaveMart, of course. Again, I remind myself, that the idiot Hummer driver probably knows where her vehicle is, because it is graciously taking up three spaces and is sure to stand out. Oh god, what do I do if I can’t find it? I will have to ask for help. I left my phone in the passenger seat, so I can’t call Alex. Even if I could, he doesn’t have a way to fetch me. I will just wander here until midnight and then get mugged and stabbed and raped probably. Shit! Pull yourself together!

I start scanning the area for small, black SUV-looking things. Then I waste some more time wondering why people of a certain size wear clothing that is too tight for them. I feel justified in judging them because I am almost of such a size, and I wouldn’t be caught dead looking that ridiculous. At that point, I am trying to think about how ridiculous I must look with my deer-in-headlights stare, darting about the lot aimlessly. But at least my jeans fit. I silently sneer at a few other lesser beings, then tell myself to stop being such a god damned snob and get out of there. And suddenly, salvation! A glimpse of black about 50 yards to my left. Right shape, right size. Oh praise the hypothetical lord!

I leap into the driver’s seat and bellow out a sigh of relief. I have to laugh at my small farce and the quivering in my fingers. How I let such a small thing spin out of my mental control. I can’t wait to get back to my cabin. I wonder what we’ll have for dinner.

© Copyright 2012 Kali Orkin (korkin at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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