The afternoon sun always seemed to bake the asphalt in our parking lot, making the air shimmer just above the blacktop. It was usually a quiet time, right after the lunch rush and before folks started getting off work. I was out collecting stray carts, pushing them into a long line, my mind mostly on the cool breeze that sometimes sneaked around the corner of the building. It wasn’t the best job, but I liked being outside, away from the smell of fresh bread and cleaning supplies that clung to the air inside the store. Plus, I could look at the different kinds of trees and sometimes, if it had rained just right, imagine what kind of mushrooms might pop up if this wasn’t a paved parking lot. I know a lot about mushrooms, all kinds, even the ones you can’t eat. It’s a hobby.
I was nearly done with one side of the lot when I saw a car pull up in front of the main doors. Not in a parking spot, mind you, but right in the fire lane. It was a shiny dark blue sports car, the kind that probably cost more than my whole house. The driver, a young man who looked like he’d just barely left college, maybe 22 or 23, jumped out without a care. He had on sunglasses, even though the sun was starting to duck behind the store, and he left his car running, doors locked. He just swaggered right in, like the fire lane was his own personal valet spot. I sighed. Some folks just don’t think about how rules are there for everyone.
Not five minutes later, a minivan pulled up, sputtering a little. It was Karen. I knew her because she came in a lot, usually with her three kids. Today, they were all in the back, little heads bobbing, probably tired from a long day. She pulled up right behind the sports car, but then she just sat there, honking. Not a little tap, but a long, blaring honk that echoed across the nearly empty lot. Her face was already turning a bit red. I guessed she wanted the spot where the young man had parked, even though it was a fire lane and not really a spot for anyone.
After a second long honk, Karen got out of her minivan. Her hair was kind of frizzy, and she wore a t-shirt with some cartoon characters on it. She stomped over to the front door of our store and peered in, trying to see who owned the fancy car. She started yelling, not really at anyone, but just into the air. “Seriously? Who parks like this? I have three children! Three! Do you know how hard it is to get three kids out of a car when some inconsiderate person blocks the whole entrance?”
The young man, still inside the store, probably heard her, but he just leaned against the customer service counter, looking at his phone. He didn’t even glance up. Karen, seeing this, got even redder. She marched back to her minivan, opened the side door, and started trying to unbuckle one of her kids. The little one was already crying, and the other two looked like they were about to join in. She was huffing and puffing, her words getting more mumbled and angry.
I pushed my line of carts closer, just trying to get them out of the way, but I also felt a little bad for her. It sounded like she was having a tough day, and that young man really shouldn’t have parked where he did. It makes things difficult for everyone. I walked up to her, trying to sound as friendly as possible. “Excuse me, ma’am? I know it’s frustrating, but that’s a fire lane, so no one is really supposed to park there. Maybe if you pull around to the side, there are some open spots over there, closer to the cart return.”
She looked at me, her eyes wide with annoyance. “What? No! I shouldn’t have to park all the way over there! This man is illegally parked! And my kids are tired! They need to get inside! He should move his car!” She pointed a finger at the store doors, even though the young man was clearly still inside, completely ignoring her.
I nodded slowly. “I know it feels that way. It’s not right that he parked there. But he’s not moving right now, and the kids look like they really need to get inside soon. The other spots are just a little bit further, but they’re safe.” I tried to make it sound like it was her best option, like I was helping her, not telling her what to do.
Just then, the young man finally walked out of the store, a single energy drink in his hand. He looked at Karen, then at his car, and then at me. He just gave a small, bored smirk. “What’s the problem, lady? I was just grabbing something quick. You can wait.”
Karen practically exploded. “I can wait? I have three children! This is a fire lane! You can’t park here! You’re breaking the law! I’m going to call the police!” She fumbled for her phone, still holding her crying toddler under one arm.
The young man just shrugged, sipping his drink. “Go ahead. I’ll be gone before they get here.” He started to unlock his car door, clearly planning to leave. But then, one of Karen’s other kids, a little boy who looked about four, screamed really loud and kicked the back of the minivan door. Karen was startled, and her phone, which she’d been holding loose in her hand, slipped and hit the ground. It bounced once and skittered under her minivan.
While she was trying to get a wobbly toddler to stand still and keep her eyes on the phone that was now out of reach, something else happened. A big shopping cart, one I hadn’t seen roll away from my main line, came rumbling down the slight incline from the far end of the lot. It was moving faster than it should, heading right for the side of a shiny black truck parked nearby. No one was looking at it except me.
My heart did a little flutter. “Oh no!” I said, more to myself than to them. “The cart!” I quickly pushed my own line of carts to the side and ran, as fast as I could, toward the runaway cart. It was picking up speed. I managed to catch it just before it scraped the side of the truck, my hands stinging a bit from the sudden stop. I turned it around and started pushing it slowly back towards the store entrance, where Karen and the young man were still arguing.
Karen was bent over, trying to peer under her minivan for her phone, her kids still making a fuss. The young man just stood there by his car, half-in, half-out, watching her struggle, a small, superior smile on his face. He didn’t offer to help, or even acknowledge the runaway cart. I heard him say something about how she should be more careful with her stuff.
I pushed my carts past them, heading for the cart corrals by the front. The sun was getting low, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple. My shift was nearly over, and I was supposed to help unload a new delivery that was due any minute. I heard Karen finally pull herself up, still looking frustrated, and the young man was still just standing there, clearly not in a hurry to leave anymore, probably enjoying the show. He was now leaning against his car, arms crossed, the energy drink almost finished. I just kept walking, making sure all the carts were neatly put away, and headed back inside the store. The manager had just called my name over the intercom, saying the truck was here, so I had to go. I never saw if Karen got her phone, or if the young man ever actually moved his fancy car from the fire lane.
