“Hey, I like your license plate!” I hear yelled across Wegman’s (voted best grocery store in NYS) parking lot. I turn to see a man I do not know waving and we both must be focused on our next appointment, because I didn’t take the time to inquire as to why he likes it. Nor did he walk toward me to tell me.
I wish I had taken the time like I do most mornings, stopping at Wegmans for a hot bagel just out of the oven. If none are warm, Tam, or other employees offer to warm one up for me. I used to buy a dozen bagels at the Ithaca Bakery, slice them into halves and freeze them at home until about two years ago when I became aware of the sweet smell of yeasty sesame bagels floating out of Wegman’s huge oven.
I also buy two chocolate chip cookies with walnuts freshly made; one for a morning snack, the other for an evening snack. Smacking my lips now as they remind me of my mother’s chocolate chip cookies, with walnuts of course, that I love(d).
Recently, I’d driven home after my Wegman’s-morning-routine-pickup, unusual as it’s usually my office that I head to where my psychotherapy clients await me. After two to three hours of online history course reading, I walk to my car and see it sagging to its right side. “WOW!” I say out loud.
The two right side tires are completely flat, How can that be? I’d just been to Wegmans and back. Luckily, (Design Of the Universe) the DOU has the young man from the upstairs apartment outside brushing snow off his car and offers me a ride to work.
The next day, as I ride in the tow truck with my 2006 Atlantic blue pearl Jeep Liberty strapped on its back; the driver says it’s not so unusual for some kids to puncture tires in parking lots, just for fun. The “Good-Year” man who replaces my tires, all 4 needing to be replaced in three months when my inspection is due in May anyway – essentially validates what the tow truck driver said about kids.
I think to meself: (typed it that way, so left it:) how sad that kids need to act out their hurts; that adults are biased in their conclusions.
Maybe they are right. And why my license plate reads, CRYBABE.