Around 5:00p.m. I made my way to the grocery store to pick up a few things. Since I am Lois' child, I must admit that a few things at the grocery store is more like a shopping cart full, but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, after double backing my way to the condiment aisle for some Hellman's mayo, my trip was done. I made my way to the checkout counter, bypassing the express lane. In the middle of the floor, between my aisle and the next, was an abandoned shopping cart. I noticed it, got in my line, and began to unpack my cart. The woman in front of me looked at me, smiled, watched the clerk scan her seventeen bottles of ginger-ale (I wonder if she, too, was expecting), and never said a word. About four items in to my unpacking, a super-skinny blond woman comes over looks at brown me and my big ole belly and says, "I was behind that woman. I am next.." I gave her the look. She stared me down. I told her that the woman never mentioned that someone was behind her, but that she could go ahead. I thought it was the good Christian thing to do, even though I questioned her lack of consideration for me. She scooted past me and began slowly unloading her cart. What she didn't know was that I was tired and in some pain. I imagine she didn't care. She was clearly younger than I am. She was clearly in better shape than I am, and not just because I am with child. And she was clearly out of the store before I was.
Though boiling inside, I told myself to move on. My pain had subsided and it wasn't the end of the world. Until I got to my car, of course. The person who pulled into the space on my left had pulled so close it left me no room to get in. (These days, when I park at home, I practically skim my side-view mirror against the right garage wall just to leave myself room to get in and out of my car.) I loaded my groceries into the trunk while plotting how I was going to get into my car. Getting into the passenger seat and climbing over wasn't an option. I mean really, I can barely get a pair of shoes/boots on without hubby's help. With cart unloaded, I started to get anxious. There was no one in sight.
And then he appeared. A thin Indian man walking towards me. I didn't know where he came from, whether he had even gotten out of a car or not. I didn't know if I could trust him, but I was desperate. "Excuse me sir, can I ask a favor?" Blank stare. "I am pregnant and the person next to me parked really close. I cannot get into my car. Would you mind pulling my car out so I can get into it?" Hesitant, he walked toward me, took my keys, and squeezed into my car. "Thank you," I said as images of him pulling out and driving to California raced through my heard. He pulled up, got out of the car and handed me my keys. "Thank you again. God bless you." Head nod. During the exchange the man never said a word.
With my car pulled out and plenty of room for me to get in, I got into the driver's seat and began to cry. It was ugly. I couldn't control my tears. Thank God I hadn't put mascara on this morning. I cried because in just five minutes I had experienced the worst and best of humanity. I cried because, well, that's what pregnant women sometimes do. I cried because I hadn't cried since Sunday. And I'm sure it won't be the last time I cry in the next two months. Some other day I'll write about the day early in my pregnancy when I cried—a more accurate word might be boo-hoo'd—watching a movie. Did I mention it was a comedy?
image taken from http://blogs.babble.com/strollerderby/2011/01/23/pregnant-women-in-nyc-free-parking-coming-soon/
Wonderful story, and I'd have loved to know what the kind Indian man told his friends or family about his experience in the parking lot! As for the tears, corny to say, but I know you are just going with the flow. Those tears release endorphins, which make you feel better. In any case, it's good to read your writing; I can so imagine being in the room with you, hearing you tell me this story. Hugs, Laurie
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