Okay, lady in the Fry's parking lot, yesterday, Tuesday, August 14, you, the one driving the large suburban child-crushing tank of a car, you the one who found it so necessary to fail to yield as I walked on top of a yellow-paint striated subsection of parking lot indicating in everyday commonplace symbology that pedestrians were likely to be ambling there (let alone the fact that one actually WAS ambling there), you who cell-phone spoke with such aplomb behind an expression obscured by sunglasses and window-tint that I am sure indicated some level of mouth-breathing inanity, you who paid neither attention nor respect to the sanctity of the non-gas-guzzling me, you who did not so much choose to continue as much as fail to chose to stop, you who would have rolled over and pulverized the meta-tarsals of a less cynical/skeptical/wary walker, you who in your inertia and lack of Turing-esque evidence of any mental activity occurring behind your white-knuckled wheel-gripping hands raised all kinds of questions as to the moral turpitude of negligence v. intentional action, who in short almost hit me yesterday:
ARGLERAZZLEFRATZ. Of course civilized discourse begs that I halt, dodge, stop in stride and let you pass in the interest of preserving my feet, maybe waving an unregistered one-finger gesture in your rear-view as you nonchalantly progressed toward to the next destination of your to-do list, but really doing nothing other than dismaying yet again at the callous indifference of the suburban modern machine. In short, i should have just done what momma done taught and been polite. But not yesterday; the air of authenticity struck me. This was plainly stupid on your part, or at the very least inconsiderate. And so rather than halt/dodge/stopping, I step/press/continued, and walked right into the side of your shiny automobile with all the force that would have resulted naturally had I been as willfully ignorant as you. And then I hit your car, open palmed, loud enough so that you couldn't not have heard, you had to stop, check whether you ran over a child / small animal / grocer. Stopped and looked and saw only me, gave a glare and rolled on down the road and then. Nothing gained, nothing ventured, but the day from that point on sparkled with a little more authenticity, a little less southern decorum and a little more Newtonian-based hey here's what happened and here's the equation to describe it. Vigor-filled, I trudged on into the store, bought my broccoli and Honey Nut Cheerios and walked with a cavalier air of this-is-real, this-is-direct, this is faux-nothing all real. Until an old lady ran into me with her shopping cart while perusing the sugar content of Low-Sugar Frosted Flakes and apologized and I said smiling "Don't worry about it, could've happened to anyone." Maybe she had diabetes.
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