I have an vivid imagination so I could picture a vehicle in flames, me rushing over to be a good Samaritan pulling the handle and becoming nearly useless, assuming I'm every useful... likely receiving a concussion that will render me unable to remember what comes after stop, drop, and ummm....drool? I could also picture a person shorter - they do exist and no I'm not a "little person" I'm just short with short stubby arms and legs (and now I'm a bit angry because I had to tell you that) trying in vain to get the extinguisher out of the box to be able to use it say on a person who practices spontaneous combustion at gas stations.
Filling up a gas tank gives you a lot of time to ponder this kind of stuff.
Last night I had the pleasure of attending a Josh Ritter concert at the State Theatre in Portland. If you've never heard of him you live under a rock - go to iTunes or YouTube and check him out. He is mighty fine and he sings great too! It was a fun time - even the opening act, The Felice Brothers were very good. My date though was a bit dull. I think he fell asleep during the encore. In his defense he has been on the garage roof since Saturday. He just goes up there for his a zen moment from time to time....actually he's been rehabbing our garage and mudroom/shed area. So anyway I look over during the song "Kathleen" a fun, happy, sing-along type of song and there he is with his fucking eyes closed. Three beers and removing 50 years of roofing materials apparently makes you sleepy. A cheering singing crowd apparently doesn't make you wake up either.
|My date with his eyes open.|
Oh but it gets better.
We walk back to the parking garage from the theater and because I was told to "just leave the fucking ticket on the dashboard" I can't get out of the garage until I pay. My Jeep is on the 3rd floor. The pay stations are on the 1st floor. Since Mr. Lover Man knows I'm not super impressed about how this date is going he offers to walk down and pay while I wait in the Jeep. Me being the "nice" girl I am say "it's OK I'll just swing into a parking spot down near the first level and wait while you pay". Yeah that would have worked if I had NOT followed his driving directions.*
We end up at a gate that is for renters only. Not regular people but people who lease spaces. I have no card to wave to get the damn gate to open. I can't back up the narrow winding ramp since it was barely wide enough to drive down in the first place. It's dark and I'm pissed! I could ram the gate - it looks pretty flimsy but I have a feeling it's going to leave a hell of a mark and probably set off a bunch of sirens. It's 11:30 p.m. and my patience ended about 15 minutes ago. I could maybe back up into an area that has a drop down security type garage door but I have a sick feeling I'm going to back up and the gate is going to come down and then I'm trapped like a fish in a glass bowl. Mr. Lover Man is just sitting there saying "shit, shit, shit" over and over again. Not overly helpful. We notice an old pay machine. It's not fancy like the one we passed when we entered the garage. At this point we have nothing to lose (except perhaps our complete bank balance) and The Roofer get out of the passenger side and inserts the garage ticket and his debit card. Silence. More silence. Still more silence. He is staring at the machine. I open my window and yell "WHAT WHAT! Is it doing anything? At all?" still nothing from my date. He starts shoving the ticket in harder, his card in harder and quicker (I'm thinking this is probably the only action he's getting all night anyway so I let him keep going) until finally the damn thing makes a printing noise, beeps, and the gate opens.
The Roofer, Mr. Love Man, my date yells "DRIVE NOW JUST FUCKING GO GO GO" my brain is screaming "SAVE YOURSELF" and I drive it like I stole it through the damn opening out into the street. He comes running out and jumps in. I now have no idea where I am since this is not the street I came in on nor is it a street I've ever seen before. It could be an alleyway. I have no clue I squeal my tires and just keep driving in to the bowels of downtown Portland.
|Gate slam you in the head.|
I somehow make it home in 40 minutes. Mr. Sleep on our Date snores for twenty miles. I purposely hit the rumble strip on the side of the Maine Turnpike at our exit. Then I talk about totally boring shit until we get home.
I don't think they'll be a 3rd date.
*please note - I am not a fan of parking garages. I very rarely go above the 2nd level unless I'm someplace like a hospital where the parking structure is owned by said hospital and all roads lead into the garage and out of the garage AND there are attendants to take your money