Somehow we go grocery shopping in our house and then the next day, there’s nothing to eat. I blame the fridge fairies, my husband points to the grocery goblins. Either way, we’re stuck heading back to the store.
It’s been awhile since I shopped at Trader Joe’s so that’s where I headed yesterday. I parked. I shopped. I came out to fire engines and ambulances. Huh.
I walked down the parking row towards my car, mildly curious as to what the hullabaloo was all about. (I live in a city – I’m jaded) An elderly couple walked beside me giving live commentary on the number of paramedics. Soon we saw what the fuss was about.
A red Mercedes had crashed into the electrical box that controls the arm to exit the parking lot. The windshield was broken, the car was totalled – it was a big mess.
And then I saw the rest.
It was like a wild rubber ball had been shot through a pinball machine and bounced about the parking lot like a hammer. A Toyota was bashed in from rear to front on the passenger side. Coated with smears of dented red paint and pushed forward, over the cement parking block and into the far row. A little black car on the opposite side, facing towards the Toyota, was bashed in the front like a bulldozer had hit it. And my car, my poor Lucky D’Angelo (yes, that’s her name), had been hammered through the rear driver’s side until I could see her guts. Between all of our cars was one empty space.
Had the Mercedes tried to pull into the space? Driven over the cement parking blocks and bashed into the little black car? Then reversed, bouncing repeatedly into the Toyota? Then reversed again back through the parking lot to turn into the exit? Only maybe gunning it at the last minute and hitting me? And then reversing again? To turn and drive out, but running up onto the curb midway and plowing into the ticket box?
Neither the police nor any of us drivers hit by the Mercedes could figure out how he did it. How he got on both sides of the cement blocks, in both aisles, in multiple directions.
The good news it, everyone is okay.