Parking at Work

I park my car in the same place at work every day. When I leave work, I know exactly where to find my car. No wandering, no wondering. It’s like a reserved spot awarded without the 30 years service (or convenience).

Yesterday, I parked a little further over, to the left of a car I recognized. It belongs to my friend Paul, and it’s decorated with a number of stickers. I hopped out and left my even more bestickered car to spend its day in the bright autumn sunlight.

That afternoon, I emerge from the artifically lit tunnel that houses my cubicle and all its business accoutrement. The setting sun dazzles my eyes, I glance around, see Paul’s car, head towards it. Then I realize that the car to the left of his is not the car I parked this morning. It’s a newer version of mine, sans stickers.

Where is my car? Did someone take it? Is that…is that a replacement?! Who would have brought me a new car?

These are the thoughts that actually go thru my head in the 2 and a half seconds before I spot my car. About 3 to the right of Paul’s. Who must have gone out to lunch today. And parked deceptively close to where he had parked this morning.

I don’t know who might bring me a new car, but if you could bring me a bit more sense, I’ll see if I can put it to use.


Dropped part of lunch on the floor.
Period started again for the second time this month.
Made a fool of myself in front of my boss and our trainee.
Grouched at someone who called me “Pippi Longstocking” because Pippi had red braids that stuck out of her head and besides, my legs are short.
Decide I’m going to treat myself to a piece of candy. A piece.
Drop candy on the floor.
Ate it anyway.