Blog Fog Part 2

Black car with name starting with"A"

While I was down south I borrowed my son's black Acura to go to a shoe store. In a small mall I parked smack-dab in front of the store in a perpendicular row of cars.
I was in the store only a few minutes, realizing that the shoes there were made of recycled beer cartons.

Black car with name starting with"A"

I squeezed the little "unlock" button on the key fob and heard the click of the door lock popping up.  As  soon as I settled in the seat I noticed how messy my son had become, leaving debris on the floor, beads strung from the rear view mirror and....HOLY HUMMER! I'M IN SOMEONE ELSE'S CAR!
It is amazing how fast a person can get out of a car. As soon as I shut the wrong door I saw that there was another black car right next to this one. I quickly seated myself in that one, and felt the need to leave the area immediately.
As I fumbled with the keys I bumped the rain wiper switch, so as I backed out they were flopping back and forth. I'll fix that later. Just get me out of here. Checking the rear view mirror, I was concerned over the closeness of the cars parked behind me. I crept closer and closer to them, cursing the designer of the parking lot, and thinking there was a nearby theater filled with people watching me on closed circuit TV and falling out of their chairs laughing. I could back up no more, and cranked the wheel till it whined, pulling forward slowly and passing a nice family putting packages into the back of their minivan. I saw the dad glance at me as I drove by, and then heard a "toot" from a nearby car horn. Thank Goodness, I thought, someone else is driving like an idiot and diverting attention from me. As I kept going forward there was another toot, a little longer this time. Okay, it was a honk. I checked the rear view mirror and to my disbelief, the nice dad and his nice little family were running after me waving their arms. No, seriously, waving their arms.
Had I hit something? Had I hit a living creature?  I wanted to fly out of there, but my warped old conscience made me stop. My heart thumped to the rhythm with the rain wipers. The dad ran up to the passenger side window and yelled, "Your trunk is open." My trunk is open! Right on! Now that I was breathing again, I mouthed a 'thank you,' not even trying to figure out how to to open the passenger window. While the rain wipers flopped the kindly man went to the rear of the car, and I watched through the mirror as he pushed the trunk down a FULL INCH until it clicked into place. I pulled forward slowly, weakly waving to the group behind me. There stood the entire little family of five, ten arms waving goodbye as I pulled forward. I felt like a fat ocean liner heading to sea while the well-wishers waved from the dock.
None of these events was my fault. Clearly this incident was caused by the manufacture of too many black cars, tight parking lots, and well-meaning dads of young families who have the eyes of a hawk and believe it is life-threatening to drive with the trunk open.
I never did figure out how to stop those rain wipers.