September 01, 2011

Imma be shakin' my hips
So I drop my sister Kayla off at the DMV / DPS / PMS - whatever it's called where you get your drivers license - and park the car, roll down the windows, and settle myself down for a good read while I wait for her to conduct her business. So I'm 20 minutes absorbed into my book (Blindness by Jose Saramago), when I feel a soft flutter and look down to see a bee nestling in my arm hair. Trying to swallow my panic (and suppress memories of my brother dumping a bucket of kiddie pool water - complete with half a lawn's worth of grass clippings, clover flowers, and bees - down my swimsuit when I was in middle school...yes, six bee stings from that funny joke...), I slowly ease out of the car and brush the bee off, only to have the dumb thing fly straight back and cling to my shirt. So I swat it and dance away, only to see it fly after my butt. So I do an impressive mid-air crunchy-sounding swat and RUN.

And not run as in a sprightly brisk jog that could have been mistaken for someone making up lost time for a late appointment or someone trying to navigate across the busy parking lot. No, run as in tripping, frantic Chinese fire drills around my car like a crazy person.

And then when I finally return to my seat and fumble with the keys to turn on the power to roll up my windows (some scene straight from a horror movie), the bee zooms right in my window once more. I don't even know where it went because I was out of that car so fast I brought three feet of my snagged seat belt with me. And then turned to see no less than four people stopped dead, openly staring at me.

So I did what any normal person would do - I nonchalantly took out my phone, pretended to text someone for a minute, then slid back in the car to roll up the windows and make an embarrassed exit as far away from my parking spot as possible. In the midst of this, Kayla sends a text that reads, "I need a $25 check. Get in here fast!!" With a sigh, I exit the car, face my onlookers once more, and start walking. I get about five feet from my car when the bee flies up my skirt.

So here's Kayla at the counter, stranded without a check, trying to hold off the government worker who's threatening to bump her from her place in line, texting and calling me for all she's worth. And here I come crashing in, sweaty and haggardly breathing. Startled, she looks at me for a split second and laughs, "Wow. You run across the entire parking lot or something to get here quickly?" And she continues to stare at me while I attempt to fill out the check, the sweaty pen slipping from my shaking fingers.

And continues to stare at me while I look at my phone for the date and stop dead at writing the year. Because I can't remember it. (Because normal people don't usually need much more than the month, day, and time on a phone display.) And she doesn't answer immediately after I murmur, "I can't remember the year. Is it 2012?"

I got stared at. I got laughed at (by some guy waiting for his own DMV / DPS / PMS passenger in his car). But, goshdarnitall, I did NOT get stung - that shoe-smacked bee got what it deserved, and I got in a full aerobic workout in my reading time.

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