Crazy Loves Me

Some people attract great opportunities. Some attract money. Others have more than their fair share of good luck or friends.  Know what’s attracted to me?

Crazy people.

*sigh*

So, I head over to Trader Joe’s tonight to get stuff for dinner (swordfish & garlic herbed mashed potatoes).  It was about 7:30pm, so the parking lot, which is pretty much always an obstacle course of epic proportions on accounta how really badly laid out and too small/inadequate it is, was particularly full of activity of the pedestrian and vehicular sort.  I couldn’t park on the far side, where I usually do, so I ended up making a full circuit and coming back around to a spot I’d seen when I pulled in, which was opposite the place where I usually park, which had a motorcycle in it.  I noticed it had a motorcycle in it because like I said, that’s where I usually park.  Since there were so many people pulling out and pulling in and meandering up the center of the driveway like it was a sidewalk, I was driving pretty slowly.  More slowly than I usually drive through a parking lot, but that’s not unusual for that particular parking lot – my speed is usually such that pedestrians can easily keep up with me without even thinking about breaking a sweat.  There were a few empty spots on the right, but I hate parking on the right, and I could see the open spot that had been there on my left when I drove in was still there, so I figured I’d just pull in there, no problem.

Can you see where this might be going?

I get to the spot, which had some sort of largish automobile to the left side of it.  My memory of it is big and white, like an SUV, but it couldn’t have been an SUV, because if it was, I would not have been able to see peripheral motion just as I started my turn into the space.  I did see it, so I hit my brakes as this frigging huge motorcycle surges through the space and out in front of my car.  And I do mean surge.  As in leap.  Burst.  Not some nice slow, I’m driving through a parking spot illegally, so maybe I should be careful in case no one sees me doing that, but a race out of the gates like someone had just blown a starter horn.

And then he stops, about 6′ from my car, and proceeds to stare me down.

Now folks, I am not a bitchy person, despite what my blog entries and tweets might sometimes lead a reasonable person to surmise.  So I did not think, “What, asshole?!” My reaction to his staredown was actually one of, “Huh.”  Then I think, “Oh, maybe he thinks I’m going to keep going straight, despite the turn of my wheels, so he’s waiting for me.”  So I point to myself and then the space, and wait.

And he keeps staring me down.

So I repeat my gesture, still nicely, despite my suspicion that this might be something other than a miscommunication, on accounta the fact that he’s very stonefaced in his staredown, and I think there’s something else going on.  Maybe he wants to repark his bike.  But no, if that’s what he was doing, why pull out of the space?  Nope, he’s leaving. So why the hell is he dishing me attitude?  IS he dishing me attitude?  Maybe he’s just not very bright.  Sweep finger from me to space.  Wait.

He slams his finger down at me in this huge sweeping arc, leaning forward on the bike and stabbing it at me.

Inside my car, I mouth, “What?”

Leaning forward further, he starts yelling at me, one word at a time. “You. Slow. Down.”  Stabbing his finger at me for emphasis on every word.  “You are driving WAY too fast.”

Folks, I have a big problem with people who fuck up and then blame it on other people, especially when the blamee in question is me, and the blaming is being done publicly, loudly, and drawing stares.  But I learned on the last tv show that I worked on that yelling back at a blamer is not conducive to either communication or clearing one’s name, and in the airport coming back from DFW last month, I learned from the lady next to me at the gate that if you speak calmly but firmly to jerks, they tend to backdown, so I say to him out my half-open window, very calmly, “I was not driving too fast. You pulled out of that space illegally.  Now move so I can park.”

Apparently, this particular jerk did not get the memo on calm, firm response.  He upped the ante  and starts screaming at the top of his lungs about how I was driving too fast and I need to learn to drive, that I’m dangerous, etc.  To which I reply when he finally takes a breath, “I was not driving too fast. You are breaking the law. Now get out of my way, idiot.”

Granted, the idiot part was gratuitous, but I was beginning to lose patience.  He sits up on the bike and goes, “What did you call me?”

To which I reply, still in calm, measured tones – maybe even moreso, since he’s clearly very dim, “I called you an idiot. Move.”

At this point, he backs up a little, turns his wheel toward me and starts walking his bike in my direction, at which point I actually think to myself, “Oh jeez, here we go again,” and consider rolling my half-open window all the way up.  I also note that he is not going to be able to clear the front end of my car, and that yes, he really is an idiot.  Then I realize he’s not trying to clear my car, and that the reason he’s concentrating so thoroughly on the front wheel of his bike is because he’s actually walking his bike into my car.  So I mash the brake down as hard as I can (to make sure my car does NOT move forward), right about the time he bounces his bike off of my bumper, rolls backward about a foot and then does it again, actually jolting my car both times, and then starts pointing again and yelling, “YOU HIT ME!  YOU HIT ME!”  He the proceeds to look around the parking lot and scream, “SHE HIT ME! SHE HIT ME! SHE HIT ME!”

I look around at all the people with mouths hanging open watching this display, roll my window down the rest of the way and say, “I did not hit you, you freak.  You walked your bike into my car. What is WRONG with you, you psychopathic weirdo?”  Only now I’m really starting to freak out, because it occurs to me that while there are tons of witnesses to this little episode, if no one speaks up, I could be in some serious trouble*.

“YOU HIT ME! SHE HIT ME!” He starts craning his neck and stands on tiptoe, looking around the parking lot. “WHERE’S THE SECURITY GUARD?! SHE HIT ME!”

To which a woman walking towards us says, very calmly, “She did not. I saw the whole thing.”

“SHUT UP! I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU. HEY, SECURITY, SHE HIT ME!”

I look over at the security guard and say, “I did not hit him. This guy is crazy.”

* I just realized I should have gotten his license plate number so I could call the cops, just in case.  Damn it.  Why do I always forget to do that?  *sigh*

Meanwhile, the guy on the bike has started walking his bike past me toward the security guard.  As he goes past my window and tells the guard, “You need to talk to her,” I see he has little black, skull-shaped buckles on the black leather sidesaddles on the back of his bike.  As if.  I pull past him and into the parking spot, roll up my window, gather my purse, and open my door, since I see the guard talking to him.  Somewhere in there, I’m conscious of the woman who called his b.s. shaking her head and maybe calling him a liar to the security guard. I’m not sure, because now I’m shaking like crazy.  I can see the security guard shaking his head and pointing repeatedly at the exit, telling the guy to leave.  Which he finally does.  I get out of my car and thank the security guard, who admonishes me that people are crazy, and I shouldn’t have spoken to him.  I try to thank the lady, but she’s irritated she had to deal with it and shakes me off and goes inside.  A young couple in tie-dyes wait for me on the front sidewalk and ask “What was that all about?”  I’m like, did you see that, and they’re like yeah, but what was his problem?  The girl sees I’m shaking like crazy and holds my hand, then they both tell me they’re glad I’m okay, that there are some seriously crazy people in this world, and hug me.  We all say take care and have a good night, and part ways.

And that, my friends, is how my life rolls way more often than I’d really like.   But after that, I had to go to another store, and I saw Beau Bridges, who was very nice when I told him I really admire him.  So maybe karmicly, it evens out, and I won’t ever have to deal with that pscycho and his motorcycle again.