In the pouring rain this lady tried, coffee in hand, to get into her Nissan Acura.*
She kept clicking the button on her key, lights were flashing and the beep was loud.** She fought for more time that people should with a door that didn't care. The man at the the table across but facing mine watched, unflinching. He seemed to lack the level of amusement I displayed, basically allowing my eyes to dart around the joint, praying that someone would notice and commiserate with me. We were dry and watching as her identical Nissan Acura whooped and glowed in the next spot over. Finally she realize what the man and I already knew and flung her arms and drink up into the falling rain.
The lady got into the Nissan Acura, HER Nissan Acura and peeled out like nobody's business.
I wanted the stoic man to look at me.We shared this weird experience and he didn't even act like anything at all.
A few minutes passed. That man got up and walked out to his Nissan Acura, the one the lady wanted to get into.
Really, my jealousy is overwhelming. She should have attempted to get into MY car. She should have thrown her arms and coffee while I looked on, very no-big-deal like.
My new goal is hiding somewhere in these words.
* I realize technically there is no car called a Nissan Acura. Don't try to call me out on it. It's something I will continue to believe until I die of natural causes at an old age.
** I don't have a click-key button. I am both practical and cheap. I realize when my locks inevitably break, I will have neither the confidence nor the electronic know-how to comfortably play with wires. Instead, I will display vast volumes of chutzpah as I dismantle the doors in an effort to recreate levers and latches.