Almost Run Over By A Car

This happened about a year ago, and my longtime Twitter peeps may remember it because, of course, almost getting run over by a car is something you're obligated to live-tweet. So one afternoon, after a long day of being a workaholic shut-in, I decided to stop off at my local grocery store. Now those that know me know that I'm very creepy. I'm very observant. I like to people-watch sometimes. It's usually to get ideas for characters and stories. And this particular day, as I was walking in the grocery store, I came across a remarkable-looking gentleman. This is important to the story, trust me. He was tall, round, wore rectangular glasses, was kind of thinning up top, and had a very distinct broom mustache. For the animation nerds out there, kind of like Eric Goldberg, only taller and less cuddly. I made a small mental note about him and carried on with my shopping. When I was done, I paid and walked my basket out the front doors. So this parking lot was set up like most grocery store parking lots. Rows of spaces with handicapped spaces in the front. I started walking down my row to get to my car when I noticed a very nice Mustang sitting in the first handicapped spot. I'm not a car person, but this was one of those cars that anybody would stop and admire. It was black. It had red stripes going down the center. Very nice. But a nice car does not make a nice person. I started walking by this Mustang, keeping my distance at about eight feet. And there was no indication that anybody was in this car. The lights weren't on. The engine wasn't running. Nothing. And I couldn't see in there because all the windows were blacked out. I was about three-fourths the way behind this car when I heard it. And with a reckless abandon, this car shot out of the parking spot heading right for me. I shoved my basket and dove out of the way. And I'm talking like an inch this guy missed me by. I felt the wind of it go by. I fell forward and caught myself hard on that basket. The force of the fall was enough to rip my lace leggings right at the knees. You don't believe me? Here's a picture. Those were mildly expensive. Oh, and the driver also could have killed me or at least seriously maimed me. I realized I probably should have just ditched the basket and made a run for it. But it all happened so fast that my brain could only think, move perpendicular to this oncoming force. If the basket's in the way, take it with you. Just move. So I narrowly dodged the car and picked myself back up. But what was so funny was how scatterbrained confused I was. What do I do about this? Was it my fault? No, no, no, no. Definitely his fault. He should apologize. But do I just walk away? Let it go? Was it an accident? Did he do it on purpose? Is he an assassin? Do I express my outrage with an appropriate lewd hand gesture? But I was in such a state of shock that I just kept walking. I made it to my car, still coming down from that adrenaline high, when suddenly the Mustang pulled up behind me and stopped. The window rolled down and guess who it was? Broomstache man. He said, Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't see you. Okay, first off, he said it in such a tone that it sounded like he was blaming me. And second, You didn't see me? Really? Listen, I know I'm not particularly tall, but I'm not an eight-year-old. Well, mentally, the jury's out on that one. But I am a cool 5'6". Thank you very much. You can see me. Clearly proven by the fact that you saw that you almost hit me. Otherwise, you wouldn't have said anything. I was still so shaken and also a little bit angry by this point that all I could say was, Uh-huh. Okay. All right. Bye. And he raced off. Huh. Cad. You just wait until I tweet about this. But oh, frabjous de caloucalé, the story does not end there. It gets better. I was on my way home, still trying to process all that had happened. And oh, dear viewers, guess who I saw on the side of the road pulled over by the police? Broomstache. Oh, the po-po got your number, bro-bro. Oh, lord, I do believe I'm coming down with a case of justice. That is what you get. Homeboy. Wait a minute. Where are my groceries?