The other day I went to meet David on his lunch break at the bank downtown so we could take care of some stuff for our construction business. So I drove the dinky little gray truck down the crowded main drag, and of course at lunch time it's wicked busy and there are very few parking spots. Except wait...bingo! There was one right across the street from the bank. A little tight, yes, and I definitely do NOT know proper parallel parking technique, but I figured I'd nose in and jimmy it like 95 times until I got close enough to the curb.

I pulled in, so excited to find a spot so close. Just a little bit further in, and BOOM! I hit the car in front of me. It was a huge fancy luxury SUV. And it was tricked out and shiny and blingy. Fortunately, I didn't hit it hard at all. UNfortunately, the driver was sitting in it. And he got out. And again UNfortunately, he was a very frightening, expensively-dressed thug. Literally a thug. Maybe a gang-member too.



He got out and looked at his bumper, rubbed his shiny license plate, grunted a little, kept rubbing and inspecting...

A lady walking down the street must have said something accusatory to him, because he looked at her and got huffy and said, "Nawww, man, she crashed me."

All the while, I was sitting with the tail end of the truck poking way out into traffic, and not really knowing what to do.

Gangsta looked at me and said, "You gotta get out."

I looked at Gangsta with a big lump in my throat and said meekly, "I need to find a place to park where I'm not blocking traffic."

He said, "You gotta pull up nexta me and back it in."

I looked at him and said, "I don't think I can do that without hitting anything." (Nothing shuts someone up like a good dose of honesty)

He kind of looked at me and then said, "I'll pull forward. Don't crash me again."

"I'll try not to." I really did say that.

So he pulled forward and then stayed in his car. I jimmyed into the spot and was scared out of my pants so I called Dave and said, "Ummmmm, I'm here but I crashed into the guy in front of me while I was parking and he's very scary. If you're here you should come defend me."

But Dave wasn't there yet.

So now Gangsta and I are both sitting in our cars. I didn't know what to do. Was I done? Should I get out and go to the bank? But if he didn't agree that I was done, then I might get popped, you know? Was I supposed to call the cops and report an accident or something? Or should I hold up a sign with my insurance card?

It was very strange, and I was very scared.

After sitting a few minutes, I finally got up the gumption to go up to his open window and say, with my voice cracking (yes, it's true), "Do you want my insurance or anything?" As he looked my very pregnant self up and down, I looked past him at the two or three additional gangstas sharing his ride. His posse. Eeeeeeeek!

"Naaaawwwh..." he said.

"Ummmm...so we're good?" I said, backing away. "I'm really sorry about that. We're good?"

He nodded a little bit.

I walked over to the bank, shaking the whole way, and didn't look back. I was sure that if I looked I would see our truck being smashed or slashed or picked up and carried away.

After sitting in the bank for a half our waiting for Loretta the banker to take care of all our paperwork, I realized that in my terror I had forgotten to pay the meter.

I've seen better days.