It's The Law

Another school week is upon me, test tomorrow studying to do today. Last Monday I decided to give myself a break from the dreaded Hospitality class I hate, so I didn't go although I am sure if I had just gone to school like I was supposed to I would have a few less scratches in the paint job on my car. The last time I skipped school I ended up saving my family from losing all of our earthly possessions. Here is how it happened to the best of my recollection (take note James Frye):

I was in 10th grade, and my parents were on a week long trip to the Bahamas or Mexico, somewhere tropical. As usual, my younger sister and I were left in the care of our older sisters, which traditionally meant none of us ever laid eyes on each other as we went our separate ways and did whatever we wanted and they spent all of their time hanging out with their friends.

Back then, Friday nights were it, the big social night. And I only had this one Friday, while my parents were away, to have a party. Problem was, I was a lowly 10th grader and school had just started, and my social network was lacking. I soon learned that you can never underestimate the power of being best friends with the prettiest girl in school. That made it easier to get people, okay boys, to come to what was now "our" party, my best friend and I. Having a beautiful friend on the ticket is a big plus when you are trying to appeal to the higher crowd. What I thought was to be a small party ended up being one so large Donald Trump's Mira Lago wouldn't have been able to contain it. On top of that, one of my older sisters came down with the flu that day. Did I cancel my fete? No, no, I sold my soul to her and she agreed to go to my aunts house to suffer!

So, party was in full force, and kids just kept showing up. It was loud. So loud, one of the neighbors called the police, and they came out and broke up the party, searched the property, somehow missed the pot someone had stashed in the dryer. I was mortified. I was pretty naive back then and was sure there was a jail cell and striped pj's emblazoned with my name already waiting for me. I was really mischievous in my younger days, but, I was not into drinking or drugs. Sure I had tried peppermint schnapps (and hated it!) one Friday night before a football game, but I'd never done anything else. However, there was no way I was going to tell the Senior guys that brought it any of this. I just pretended to be cool with it. I don't know, if I was a member of law enforcement I would think the first place they teach you to look is the dryer. Maybe they saw it and let it go. Anyway, everyone left and I got a warning. My parents were none the wiser when they got home, I went about my business, my sisters had A LOT of leverage, which they took full advantage of, as they had the party of the century to hold over my head.

Several months later, the party a distant memory, I decided to skip school, while I was AT school. My friends and I didn't go to class, instead, we hung out in the quad on school property. How smart were we? Don't answer that it is a rhetorical question. In those days, if you did not show up to class, your parents got a call, one from an actual person in the school administration office, not from a computerized and hollow voice as we do these days. The school secretary called to ask my dad if I was sick as I was absent that day. My dad knew very well I had left for school that morning. Next thing you know, I see him through the windows of the quad where we were hanging out, marching up the sidewalk to the school doors. He yanked them open, spotted me, and, well, home we went. When we got there, I ran up the steps to our front door, which I noticed was ajar, and in I went, where two guys, one with a gun, had everything of value in our house, including all my dads electronics and the safe from the master bedroom closet, loaded up in trash bags and almost ready to go. These guys saw me, and did nothing, but just then, my dad came hulking up behind me. We always called my dad Fred Flintstone, a lot of our friends were initially scared of him, he was gruff on the outside but a marshmallow on the inside. The stealers took one look at him and then they took off running. I called the police, my dad actually caught one of the guys he was chasing, and two detectives came out to interview us. It was when one of the detectives cocked his head to the side and said "I know YOU!" that I had to explain to my bewildered parents why a nice Jewish high school girl from a middle class family was acquainted with said police detective. So, while they told us it was likely the perps (yeah, I helped catch 'em I can use the lingo) or friends of theirs had cased our place at the party because they knew what we had and were prepared with a dolly to wheel out the safe, meaning had I not had the party we would not have been violated, I like to focus on the fact that if I hadn't skipped school that day my dad would have lost his favorite binoculars, his new VCR, the microwave that was so big it had its own zip code and all my deceased grandfathers class rings.

Even with my last skipping incident being sort of traumatic, I was ready to try it again. Perhaps it was the universe telling me that I should be safely ensconced in the school parking lot, where the parking stalls are sufficiently roomy so as not to ram your car door into the car parked next to you. But no, I was not in my safe zone, I was out running errands where the 40 mile an hour winds coupled with inattentive and lazy people make up one the biggest hazards to my fairly new car and its already too scratched to be this new paint job.

At the grocery store, I was parked next to a behemoth SUV, but I was well within my lines, as I always try to be. I am not a crooked park-er like my husband. It drives me crazy how he will just pull right into a parking spot and happily go about his business without even a thought to the fact that his car is really close to the line on the back passenger side. If this happens to me, I pride myself on my straightening out skills and frankly, on my ability to look out for the other guy. No one needs another scratch or ding in their door or on their bumper. So, when I came out with my bags, the owner of the traveling condo next to me was just about finished loading hers up as well. I noticed, with absolute glee, that she was polite enough to take her cart and push it to the cart receptacle, which so many people do not do, but I would NEVER think of not doing, so neither should anyone else. As the years go by, I have not only become acutely aware of my parking lines, but I am compelled to park and realize where the cart storage racks are, just like knowing where the emergency exits on the plane are located, so I can return mine promptly after I am done using it, so as not to have it roll into a car or small child causing irreparable damage. My proud of my neighbor moment quickly came to an end as I hopped in my car after returning my cart, and began to put the key in the ignition. That's when I heard a loud "thunk" and turned my head only to notice the driver door of this small apartment blew open and whacked into the side of my car. Then, incomprehensibly, miss cart-returner comes back, grabs her door and dislodges it from mine, plunks in her drivers seat and revs her engine for a fast getaway. I lunge from my car, and fly to the other side as fast as I possibly can, rapping loudly on her window before she can flee the scene. I am knocking profusely and saying, okay, maybe more loudly saying, or possibly sort of soft yelling "you hit my car!" Miss I return my cart to the proper place looks at me like I am crazy. She opens the door, steps out, and denies it. Are you kidding me? How could she ignore the fact our two vehicles had just become so close they may need to share a cigarette? Had she not just dislodged her door from mine? I heard the door hit me, I saw her get in the car. At this point, quite smartly I might add, she calmly gets out of her monster ride and takes her door and swings it open to show me the clearance between our two vehicles, thus proving she could not have caused most of the damage to my car. She willingly asks me if I want her to call the police, several times. Still not totally believing it, I slink back to my vehicle, leaving her with this strict warning which I yell at her through my cracked passenger side window: "Next time lady be more careful when you open the door when it's windy."

I then drive down the few blocks to the UPS store, so I can drop off a package containing a purchase I made during one of my online shopping sprees, which has passed the 30 day return window, but only by a few weeks. When I come out of the store, a shopping cart from the grocery store I just left is sitting up against my passengers side car door propped along the curb, leaving yet one more ding in my door. I look around for the big black SUV but it was nowhere in sight. She's stealthy, that one.