While I was getting ready this morning, I heard a big truck pull into our development and realized I had forgotten to take out the recycling. I hate when I forget the recycling, because I have to wait until the next week to put it out again and stuff piles up and gets in the way and annoys me.
So I ran outside, and caught the truck just in time. The driver said good morning, then yelled over the engine noise “What happened to your Porsche?” I stared at him. “Your Porsche, where is it?” I figured it was a joke and laughed and turned to go back inside.
“No really,” he said. “It used to be right there.” And he pointed at an empty parking spot. “Where is it?”
If you’ve never been to my house, I should tell you that I live in a suburban townhouse development. There are 22 townhouses that share my part of the development, and we all face the same parking lot. There are 34 spots in the parking lot, some of which are assigned by number, but the number doesn’t match the number on our doors. There is no way on earth the driver could have known which of the many cars in the lot was mine, unless he spent a lot of time watching me, which I’m not paranoid enough to believe.
Also, it’s not exactly a Porsche neighborhood. When one of the neighbors got a new mini-van, the rest of us marveled at how clean it was. The nicest car I’ve ever seen in our parking lot was a Jag that my husband got on an upgraded car rental. The second nicest was a Lincoln that my husband got on an upgraded car rental. The third nicest was.. well my husband rents a lot of cars, is what I’m saying, so he gets a lot of upgrades, all of which are nicer than the cars usually parked in our lot. As far I as I know, there has never been a Porsche anywhere near my neighborhood.
“I’ve never had a Porsche.” I told him.
“Really? Because it was right there.” He pointed again.
“Have a great day!” I said, and smiled and ran into the house.