It was two days until Halloween, and my kid had no pumpkin.
I went to a couple of stores that were, unbelievably, out of
pumpkins. Then I drove to a nearby strip mall. The one that Dad had told me
14,862 times to never never ever go to. I had no choice; I had recently proven
myself a tooth fairy failure and killed six goldfish. I could not blow
Halloween.
I parked near the drugstore and went in for Midol and
mascara and also bought some M&M’s on impulse, and decided to walk to the
grocery rather than moving the car.
Price Chopper had lots of pumpkins, and they were cheap,
too. I chose a huge, perfectly round specimen and headed out, imagining the fun
Jess would have carving it.
Walking back, while wishing I’d moved the car and didn’t
have to carry 30 pounds of redemption, I noticed three men at my car. My first
thought was Oh, poor things, that has happened to me before, getting into a car
that looks like yours but isn’t, and then you realize the car you are in has
rosary beads dangling from the mirror and yours has a scented flip flop, and
you hightail it out of there before the owner comes and thinks you are stealing
his car.
My second thought was THEY ARE STEALING MY CAR.
I ran, screaming like a banshee who needed her Midol.
“That’s my car! Get the fuck away from my car! Hey, that’s my car!” I had no
idea how I would repo my car when I got there, but I knew the pumpkin was
slowing me down. I left it near a cart return and ran faster, yelling more foul
words than I knew I knew, as if sailor speak would make these guys apologize
and offer to carry my pumpkin for me.
Now a row or two away, I watched the driver get in. Thief
two jumped into the passenger seat, and the third perp ran to an old blue van
parked nearby. Both vehicles left the lot, the van at high speed and my Buick
looking like it should have had a truck with flashing yellow lights on top
following it.
I turned back for the pumpkin, just in time to see some punk
in pants four sizes too big grab it and run.
Back at the drugstore, I panted “Please. Call 911.” The not
surprised clerk also let me call my dad, to ask him to pick Jess up at daycare,
since I’d had a slight delay.
When the officer arrived we started the report, and then the
questions came. Could he see my I.D.? What was my previous address? Where did I
work? I ponder lots of weird stuff, but had never once thought about whether
there might be a hooker living in my town with exactly the same name as me.
While assuring Officer Skeptical that I had no warrants for prostitution or
anything else, a call came over his radio – my car had been abandoned near the
zoo, where another was stolen.
The officer drove me to my car and explained that the
thieves knew I saw them, so they traded in. More likely they figured out that
my car would not be very reliable for making quick getaways.
The police dusted for fingerprints, showed me how to start
the car with a screwdriver, and I finally headed home.
I stopped by my parents’ place to get Jess and give Dad his
You Were So Right and I Didn’t Listen to You and I’ve Learned my Lesson story.
He started chuckling as soon as the story began, and was in full-blown guffaw
by the time I finished. I mean laughing so hard that he could not respond to
anything I said.
I felt better just for the telling despite the fact that I
got no sympathy.
When Dad recovered, he said, “How many times have I told you
not to shop there?”
“Fourteen thousand. Eight hundred. And sixty-two. Where’s
Jess?”
“In the garage with Mom. Carving pumpkins.”
