And a very pleasant afternoon to you also! I sincerely appreciate your well wishes and good tidings. Today has been rather exciting, and I figured I’d take a break from the break I’m taking at work and impart the following occurrence.. I know, I know, I’m too good to you.
Y’all remember the lady from my building . . . the “tights & sneakers/African American/Roseanne Barr look-a-like” I’ve been trying my hardest to make my new BFFL? And I know you remember my decision to start parking right next to her PT Cruiser . . . even though its like 100 yards away from the “Visitor” spot I usually occupy.
First, I’ve been parking right next to that cornflower blue ride of hers -- even though it makes me way later than I am to begin with. I always take a good look inside her car, just to see if she’s left anything valuable (and her doors unlocked) in the console or the bootleg version of the new Jay-Z album (you and I both know homegirl is all about Shawn Carter, come on!) in plain sight. After I’m done making sure everything is secure and safe (we do work in Durham, after all), I saunter around my own car, just to take an inventory of any nicks or scratches I’ve got currently. I can’t have the black Roseanne fucking my ride up. That’s what alcohol and the side of the road are for, duh.
Anyway, because I’m always late and take lunches that average about 2 hours, I never see this new favorite person of mine. Its like she’s vanished into thin air . . . except for that damn PT Cruiser! Its left me quite puzzled, and to be honest, a little worried.
The good Lord must have heard my prayers and thought it fit to ease my worried heart because this morning, I drive all the fucking way to the end of the parking lot, pull up right next to the kindred spirit that just happens to work in the same building that I do and gasp! She’s just gotten out of the car; denim skirt, vest, blazer and all! Man! What luck . . . my newest buddy in a Canadian tuxedo. God is good, that’s for sure.
After putting my car into park, and brushing off the eye roll I think she shot my way (bitch), I hasten after her. She’s on the phone of course, so we don’t get to have another awkward amazing conversation. As I trail this bitch walk into the building behind her, I could swear I heard her say something about “the girl that parks next to her.” No fucking lie. I stopped in my tracks. I felt such an aching betrayal. Here I am, just minding her/my own business trying to be nice and make Durham a friendlier place to live and experience assaults in, and this what I get? Rude.
I spent the greater part of the morning putting the pieces of my broken heart together. Then I happened to glance at my petite, adorable wrists and saw the WWJD? bracelet that I got as a shitty birthday present circa ’95. And I asked myself . . . “What would Jesus do?” Welp, I’ll tell you what He’d do . . . he wouldn’t fucking give up, that’s for sure. He’d turn the other cheek and keep on attracting his friends and followers with honey, 10,000 loaves and water/wine; rather than vinegar. Obviously.
I’ll be spending the rest of my day coming up with a strategy to win over the object of my BFFL affection. Don’t worry, I can see us sipping Bartles & James (I’m pretty sure its her favorite, there’s always a 6-pack in her trunk, lit/fig, oh snap!) together on a deck somewhere by Friday. P.S. The one good thing that came out of this (learning) experience is that I got close enough to see her name badge and with this extra information, can load yet another dart into my quiver of friendship arrows. Oh, yeah, homegirl’s name is Shirley.