Fourth of July Excitement

I have parking issues. I can’t leave my car parked in just any spot. If I pull into a mall or department store, I have to park in the very back of the parking lot. I have this phobia that if I park too close to other cars, someone will park right up against my doors, either the driver or passenger doors, and I won’t be able to get in. Then I won’t be able to leave when I want. I’ll be trapped.

This Fourth of July, my worst fear came true. I attended my local county fair on Saturday. I parked in a field. I was a bit concerned about getting stuck in the mud, considering how hard it had rained the previous night, but there were no other cars parked around me, so I wasn’t altogether concerned.

I left my car to enjoy the fair. After a visit though four buildings, the cow barn, the chicken tent, a lap down the midway to enjoy a fried dough and an ice cream, I trudged back to my car.

My heart leapt in my throat. My car was totally blocked in. An F-150 truck parked ahead of me, mini-van behind me. After a brief but strong panic attack, I hurry to the back entrance gate and plead for one of the fair workers to help me. One insists there is nothing she can do.

“But it’s the Fourth of July!” I wail. Most likely those who have trapped me in are staying for the demolition derby and the fireworks display following the show. I’m clearly doomed.

A fireman at the gate takes pity on me and summons a police officer passing by on a horse to call over to the main office and have the licenses of those blocking me paged over the intercom.

“But how are they going to hear the announcement over the demolition derby?” I continue to whine. I’ve already ate my weight in midway snacks. What the heck am I supposed to do until midnight or later when these people decide to leave?

So they announce the licenses. Nothing. An hour passes, and no one comes to my rescue, except the fireman and policeman who have been extremely patient with my impatience. The policeman now starts talking in his intercom, pocket radio thing. Thirty minutes passes, and a tow truck shows up. As it hoists the mini-van up and onto its apparatus, I ask the policeman what he’s doing. Turns out he ran each vehicle through the records, and the min-van has been identified as stolen.

Huh? Someone would steal a vehicle in my lil’ ol’ neck of the woods? Wow, this is just like an episode of Cops! Now I no longer want to leave. Now I want to know who would steal a maroon mini-van with a “Soccer Mom” bumper sticker.

But my car is free. Free as we are this Fourth of July. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.