The Parallel Plight

The Parallel Plight is one girl’s harrowing tale of lunch time parking and the struggle to keep it together when all eyes are on her.

 

Gemma Kanudel was used to being stared at. But what was she wasn’t used to was the humiliation of being stared at and laughed at.

A few disclaimers before I share a wee tale:

*The names and places in this post have been changed to protect the innocent{?}.
*The following story does not take place in, around, or near any city in which the author is employed.
*The characters and events portrayed in this post are fictitious in the mind of the author and any similarity to real persons living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
*Any video/iPhone footage will be contested in a court of law.

Gemma Kanudel stepped out into the hot, hazy sunshine.  Lunch hour.  Finally.  Leaving the cares of the retail administration behind her, Gemma, who happens to be a tall, wispy blonde-haired, blue eyed knock out {seriously, why she isn’t working the runways of New York & Paris is beyond her clueless coworkers} makes her way to her luxury sedan.  She’s given her driver the day off so the car is hot inside and she heads out of the mall parking lot, windows down, radio blaring, long, gorgeous, luxurious hair blowing in the wind.

Twitty is a busy city on the lunch hour.  Traffic is a nightmare and backed up between stop lights.  Snail paced. Hot. Gemma still hasn’t decided where she’ll pretend to eat today.  Construction delays her more than usual. There are whistles, hoots, and hollers as she finally makes her way through the work zone.  She finds herself heading toward the opposite side of town, the car seemingly driving itself to her favorite sandwich place.  Amazingly, there is an available parking space right in front.  She’ll have to parallel park but no worries; Gina errr….Gemma is a good driver.  A skilled parallel parker.

Gemma pulls up next to the front car, expertly aligning her rear bumper with it’s rear.  She gently eases her sedan back into the space.  She pays extra special care to not get too close to the car parked behind.  Gemma turns the wheel inward to straighten her parking job, but the gas pedal sticks slightly as she lowers her shiny, pointy Manolo. Even before she realizes what she’s done she wonders why, exactly, is the car in  front of her rocking just a bit?  And then she fully realizes what, exactly, she has just done.

A few things run through Gemma’s mind:  That did NOT just happen.  Gemma CAN parallel park.  Surely, there were no WITNESSES.  Gemma slowly opens her right eye {did I mention her eyes were clenched shut at this point?} and turns her head to the right.  Crap.  She’s parked in front of that fancy-schmancy pizza joint.  The one with the huge window-front.  The window-front that’s filled with lunch time patrons.  Patrons who happen to be looking right at her.

Gemma considers high-tailing it outta there.  But what if she panics and seriously smashes into the car in front?  Mustering enough self-confidence to act as if nothing has happened, she exits the car, inspects the offended vehicle, finds no tell-tale signs of damage, and stands upright, relieved. She squares her shoulders, flips her long, gorgeous, luxurious hair over her shoulder, and strides over to the sandwich shop.

Still nervous about her little slip, Gemma orders lunch to-go.  No lunching and lounging for her today.  She’s anxious to leave before the car’s owner returns. Back to her own car she treks.  The patrons in the pizza place still watch her as she slides into her car. Still anxious, she calls her boyfriend for counsel.  Should she wait until the owner returns and confess her little run-in even though there is no sign what-so-ever of damage?  Should she leave a note?

Boyfriend, being the supportive love that  he is, advises:  get outta there and don’t let anyone see her license plate number.  And so she does.  She maneuvers out of the space and jets off down the lane, noticing a Twitty City Police blazer entering the lane behind her a few cars behind.  The gig is up, Gemma thinks. But, the police blazer turns off.  Just to be extra sure, Gemma takes the long way around back to the mall and finishes her sandwich {Gouda with tomato-basil sauce on tomato-basil bread, in case you’re wondering} in the parking lot with only moments to spare before she is expected to return to her desk.

The End.

P.S.  In case you were also wondering:  the cheese sandwich was totally worth it.  So says Gemma.

 

Photo by Abigail Keenan on Unsplash