Let’s Make A Deal_(0)

This is our Calling All Writers Challenge Chapter 3 entry.



Now, I’m the first one to admit that there are times when I get distracted, and there is just a chance I wasn’t walking close enough to the parked cars in the lot of the supermarket. But Jesus, you’d think anyone driving a bright red sports car wouldn’t want to mess it up by using me as a hood ornament. I damn near had to jump out of the way as she made a wide swing into a parking space. Of course it was a woman driver. Before you jump my shit, not all women are bad drivers, but there’s something about one being behind the wheel of a machine like that that just torques my butt.

I grabbed a cart and began my methodical journey through the store. I always start with produce, then meat, around the perimeter of the building, before going up and down the aisles. I know, creature of habit.

First, I heard “Shit!” Then, I heard the sound of someone’s shopping cart crashing into mine and the sound of my canned goods being tossed around.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sounding sincerely apologetic.

I chuckled and told her it was no problem, as she sped down the aisle. She looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know from where.

There was hardly anyone in the market at six o’clock at night, since everyone else was home eating dinner, instead of shopping for it. It was my favorite time to stop, after a long day at the garage. I could get around the store and be home within an hour.

I had no warning as I was almost knocked down by someone’s cart, while inspecting a carton of eggs. Twelve eggs when flying through the air – splattering into the cooler, onto the floor, and all over my new Nikes.

“Son of a bitch,” I growled and turned to face my attacker.

There she was again, red-faced with tears brimming in her eyes. It was then I realized she was also the woman who almost ran me down in the parking lot. Try as I might to be angry, seeing that pouting, mortified face caused me to do only one thing – laugh.

“Honest to God, I’m not normally this klutzy. Please forgive me. Let me reimburse you for your sneakers. They’re ruined,” she begged.

“Look lady,” I had a hard time controlling my laughter, “did I do something to you in another life? Are you my punishment for some unforgivable deed?”

The look she gave me stopped me dead. I put my hand on her arm, trying to make her feel better.

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Now, I’m going to the checkout area. Let’s make a deal. Why don’t you wait about fifteen minutes before you come anywhere near the cashiers. Okay?”

On my way out of the store, one of my bowling buddies stopped to invite me over for a cookout, the next weekend. I saw her leave the store and head out to the parking lot. The early evening breeze played with her skirt, lifting it. I have to say, that was a fine looking ass walking away from me.

My mind was on watching the game, a cold beer and the deli sandwich I just bought. I checked my mirrors before backing my truck out of the parking spot.

S-C-R-E-E-C-H! I heard the sound of brakes and waited for the BANG that normally followed. I stopped so that maybe I could avoid getting in the middle of anything. What I didn’t expect was to feel my truck lurch a little as someone hit my back end.

“Fuck!” was the most appropriate thing I could say.

It’s bad enough that I make a living fixing the cars that idiots smash, but do I have to be the victim in an accident? Fucking insurance papers, adjusters, police reports, waiting to get paid – I needed this like a fucking hole in the head.

I got out of the truck, ready to rip someone a new asshole. Come on, I’m in a big black Chevy truck – I’m kind of hard to miss, if you know what I mean. When I looked at the driver getting out of the little red Miata, I just shook my head. I should have known. My truck was fine, and her car really wasn’t in too bad a shape. I could knock that dent out in no time.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she stammered. “I am so dead. That’s it – I just shouldn’t ever go home.”

She stopped and looked at me and then the tears started. Oh Christ, I thought, not tears, please not tears. Nothing can reduce me to a pile of mush faster than tears.

“Lady, do you want me to call the police to take the report? You do have insurance, don’t you?” I asked trying not to look at the runny-nosed mess she was becoming.

Her words came out in hiccups.