I was driving around campus when I went to visit BYU earlier this month. Julie and I were meeting up for lunch and I arrived at the visitor parking lot with plenty of 2 minutes to spare. The lot was full but the attendant said I was welcome to drive around and double check. It really was full but in the spirit of great lurkers I’ve met in the past, I found a woman getting ready to leave, followed her to her car, put on my blinker and waited for her.
Another driver in a car smaller than my tank of familyhood headed down the aisle towards me, stopped on the other side of the exiting vehicle and put her blinker on as well. It was a showdown. It was a game of parking chicken. And she won. As soon as the car had backed fully out, she jetted in front of me and took the spot. I could do nothing but honk my horn, huff puff and throw an insane sort of adult hissy fit with my children looking on.
When I was certain there were no other spots available, I headed across campus to the additional parking by the stadium, about half a mile from where Julie and I were to meet. I dialed her cell phone. Breathing quickly through clenched teeth I growled that I would be late for lunch due to an extremely rude single woman who had no idea what it was like to tote two tired children all over the state through the snow and it might take me even longer than normal because I would have to take a side trip to the parking lot to key her car.
In the rearview mirror I caught sight of Laylee’s face, studying me closely like a mini-dose of Calm-the-Heck-Down-For-the-Sake-of-the-Children. I then started into a whole Pollyanna routine about how lucky we were to get to walk through the parking lot and see all the pretty cars and past the Marriot center and through a tunnel and over a bridge and down a spirally ramp and past a water feature and across a sidewalk and through the quad… in the snow. I told them I was sure that the mean lady wasn’t lucky enough to do ANY of those things. She had tried to be mean but in the end we had won out because we had gotten to take such an exciting and scenic walk.
The kids appeared to buy it and I even felt nearly recovered from my irrational psychotic rage by the time I met Julie for the first time. She’s as lovely as her blog and I’d hate to have terrified her with my red-faced saliva-spitting anger.
So I thought it was over… until yesterday.
We were driving in the car and suddenly Laylee asked, “Remember when we were at BYU and you said you wanted to pee in that lady’s car?”
Laylee: That mean lady took our parking spot and you said you wanted to go back and pee in her car.
Me [wanting to redeem myself in her eyes but obviously not thinking it through]: NO! Honey. I would never pee in somebody’s car. I said I wanted to KEY… her… car.
Laylee: What’s “key”””
Me: It’s a bad mean thing that we should never do or even joke about and it was very inappropriate of me to even say and I am so sorry.
Laylee: But what””
Me: It’s too mean and I won’t ever do it.
Laylee: Um… okay…
So we don’t believe in urinary vandalism in this family. No ma’am. If we’re gonna do property damage, we’re gonna go for the gold. Ayaiyai! I wonder when I’ll ever learn to keep my big mouth shut when around little people with long memories and “enquiring minds.”