The Angry Scooter Boy in Walmart Parkinglot

Cheers, scooter man.

Yesterday, I got this need to change the color scheme in my life.  I mean this in an actual literal sense, I felt the need to change the look of my home.  My friend and I decided to take a trip to Walmart for paint and some color therapy.

After finding some cheap canvas and a small array of paint in pastel colors, my friend and I were pretty psyched about getting some art work done.  We discussed ideas.  Strangers in the line in front of us joined in our conversation, as they seem to do with happy, excited people.  I even got a little conversation going with the check out lady about paint and cheap decorating ideas.  We were on a decorating high.

I always park pretty far out in a parking lot.  There is really no reason other than I drive a large car and it lacks a rear view cam.  I cannot see anyone shorter than my back window behind my car.  I drive into a slot that is empty on both sides, and make sure the front end of the car faces the lane.  Backing into someone is not my idea of fun.  It is really no sacrifice for me to park further from the entrance of the store.

As we got in my car, we noticed a trailer attached to the back of a truck that was full of old chairs.  We talked for a minute about the chairs, and we both wondered if the owner was going to resale any, because we bought paint.  Old chairs become new with a little paint.  But, there was nothing identifiable that I could see on this truck that I was parked next to.  I drove around it to get in a lane to exit Walmart.  As I did this, my friend commented on a chair with a dark blue back on it.  I, again, parked beside the truck and we looked.  Then, I proceeded to look both ways for traffic and start to exit.  There was none.

Then, we saw the wing back chair.

So, my curiosity got me.  I stopped long enough to notice a stain on the arm of the chair when I hear a small rev of a small engine.  My first thought, scooter.  This was definitely no consequence to me, there are empty parking places all around, room to go around, other lanes.  I ignored it.  Then, my friend and I wonder, did we miss a possible number on the driver side door?  So I go far enough up to stop and turn my head to look for a number, and the little scooter rev happens, once again.  Mind you, this entire process took maybe 30 seconds.  I was on a decorating high.  That was when I found out who revved that little engine that apparently could.

In the infinite space which is maybe the mid-section of our local Walmart parking lot, this man, who must have been of equal infinite importance, zips in front of us and shakes his head the entirety of the time.  Not once, not twice, the entire time.  Being on a decorating high, this was again, of no circumstance to me.  This is the point, though, that really got me.

After he zipped by carelessly, oblivious to the fact that anyone besides himself actually matters, and 30 or so seconds is not really that big of a chunk of your life, and there is infinite space to go around, he actually stops long enough at the sign to turn around and shake his head at me, while making eye contact.  There goes another wasted thirty seconds.   My only response was the only one appropriate for someone on a decorating high, hysterical laughing.

In all honesty, as much comic relief as this has brought me, I am thankful eternally that I do not have men like angry scooter boy in my life.  Also, it may have been a motorcycle, but does it really matter?