Sunday, June 10, 2018

"Parking Lot Woes"




Today’s grocery run took an unexpected turn when our car wouldn’t start. It didn’t make the usual click-click-click associated with a dead battery. Turning the key resulted in nothing at all. Tempers rose, bubbling quickly to the surface within the scorching heat that sweltered around us. Each of us focused upon a different problem. My husband tried a few more ignition starts and puzzled over the soundless response while my son dug out the owner’s manual. Worried more about the groceries that sat in the trunk than determining the source of the problem, I grabbed a cart and reloaded everything. Once in the store, I started to explain our predicament when the clerk interrupted, “Give me your name, and I’ll take your cart back to the cooler.”
         By the time I sprinted back to the car (we always park in the furthest slot to add to daily steps), sweat soaked my hairline. My husband and son hoped that a dead battery caused the problem and sent me back inside for distilled water as the levels looked low. I rushed back into the store, dashed over to the water section, lunged for the last jug, and zigzagged to a self-checkout register. Darting around traffic and fellow shoppers, I breathlessly arrived at the car to find it running. A fellow shopper had a wonderful little jumper box that started our car immediately.
         I spun around and headed back into the store one more time to fetch our food. 
       On our drive home, we discussed how this car gave no prior warnings of the battery dying: no slow engine crank, no dashboard warning light, no rapid clicking sound. No advanced indication that we’d find ourselves stranded in an H.E.B. parking lot.
         Our adventure brought home a realization that we didn’t have anyone to call for help. I’d left my phone charging and with it the number of our neighbor and sister-in-law, two people who would’ve dropped everything to rescue us. We have a nephew who lives close by the store, but none of us have his current number. Tomorrow, I’ll make certain each of our phones carries the numbers of all of those neighbors and friends instead of it being in one phone.
         I find myself thankful for the man who helped us in the parking lot, and for the personnel in the store who cheerfully stashed our groceries away and kept an eye out for my return. I didn’t even have to ask for the cart! These little acts of kindness have restarted my faith in the goodness of others.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
         

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