My Hero

I thought about putting this off until tomorrow, but the idea that I might forget even one moment of this story is more than I can bear. I figure it's not everyday that something like this happens, and it is just too funny (way, way too funny) to go untold. You're welcome.

It all started with two sexy Mustangs and a touch of the road rage.

I find that I frequently enter that emotional state while driving within my apartment complex. You see, I live in a giant maze. There are too many buildings to count, but, all in all, the number of units is right around 3,000. Within the complex, the six phases (each one named after some kind of wood) are situated around a huge circular drive with unnamed side streets shooting off in every direction. It's almost impossible not to get lost here. And get this: When I enter through the security checkpoint (which includes a mechanical arm and a swinging, wrought-iron gate--as if that weren't overkill), I have to make four left turns to get to my parking space. And you'd better believe I've clocked it. It's a quarter of a mile!

Tonight, that quarter of a mile took an eternity to traverse. It was interminable. And all because of Big Red's evil twin, a lovely silver Mustang. If not for the ultra coolness of the vehicle, I would have automatically assumed I had been caught behind a half-blind, weak-legged grandpa. Our speed did not even register on my speedometer. I kid you not! The needle just sat there, two dots below the five mile-per-hour mark. Terrible!

Finally, about 20 minutes later, I saw the end in sight. My parking space was just ahead. And then, of course, grandpa pulled to a stop with the engine running. Right. In front. Of my space.

I honked.

I honked again.

Minutes later, the passenger door opened and a shady-looking character swaggered up to my window and started striking threatening poses like some sort of deranged supermodel. I locked the doors and grabbed my cell phone. We recently received notice that our complex hired a new security firm. And, since one hundred million people live here and half of them are rowdy and/or suspicious, I programmed the number into my phone immediately. Before I could get out more than two or three sentences, though, the officer told me he'd be right over. And then he hung up on me.

After a few more seconds of serial killer charades, I pointed to my parking spot, my tormentor got back in his car, and they pulled into a space a few cars down from mine. Whew!

I thought about waiting for the security officer, but my impatience got the better of me. I grabbed my laundry from the trunk (thanks, Mom!) and headed for my apartment, which happened to be several yards past what now had become two shady characters. And, as luck would have it, they were waiting outside of their still-running vehicle for me.

A bit of swearing and a few more tough-guy poses later (them, not me), I entered my apartment and locked the door. But then I got to thinking: What if those miscreants try to take out their delinquent urges on my innocent car? Better I should be beaten to a bloody pulp than one tiny scratch mar the beauty of Big Red. So, I called the security office a second time and asked them to take down the license plate number of the silver doppelganger.

Turns out, the officer had already made it to the scene of the crime (which is an inappropriately melodramatic description of what turned out to be nothing), and he was wandering around, very confused but with a look of great purpose.

"Is it this one? I bet it was this one!" he exclaimed, pointing to a black Mustang many years newer than mine.

"Uh, no. It definitely wasn't that one," I replied, "because, as I said on the phone, it was silver."

"Are you sure it wasn't this one? I think it was this one."

"I'm positive. It was pale silver."

"There are just so many Mustangs parked over here. I can't decide which one."

I looked around and noticed three Mustangs parked in the vicinity: two black and one red. No silver. They had obviously fled the scene.

"It's not any of these," I said. "They must have left already. I don't think they live here."

"Is it this one?" he asked, pointing to Big Red (which was parked in my space, the number of which I had given him over the phone mere moments before).

"Nope. That's my car."

"Oh. Well, I guess they must have left already. I'm sorry I was late getting here. I got lost," he explained. He looked quite dejected, so I tried to cheer him up.

"That's okay. It wasn't really that big a deal. It's just that, you know, when a couple of burly young men approach a lone woman in a dark parking lot and start swearing and making threatening gestures, it's a little worrisome. But no harm done."

"I'm really sorry, Ma'am. I swear I zoomed over here as soon as you called. I really did. I zoomed. But I went to Building 3," he said, pointing to Building 9, "and then I drove around some more until I found Building 5. It's really confusing around here."

"Yes," I agreed. "It's very confusing."

"Ma'am, maybe next time," (and there will be a next time--we both know that), "don't get out of your car if strange men are threatening you until I get here and tackle them." And, I swear to you, he made a tackling gesture when he said that. No joke. "If I hadn't have gotten lost, I totally would have tackled those guys!"

"Wow," I said, "that's really extreme. I appreciate it."

"You know, since this place is so hard to find, maybe next time you could say the street name instead of the building number. You could say, like, that it's right next to Capitol," he recommended, pointing to Snell.

"Oh, uh, I think that's Capitol over there," I said, pointing to the perpendicular street. "I think this one here is Snell."

For at least ten seconds, the earnest and seriously overzealous officer turned first to Snell and then to Capitol, whispering their names under his breath. "I think you're right," he finally decided.

"If this ever happens again," he went on to say, "you just call us. Do you have our magnet? And I will zoom right over here, and I will tackle them! I mean, I zoomed tonight, too, but I got lost. But anyway, just stay in your car until we can tackle them for you. That's the safest way."

Hmm. I don't know. All that tackling seems a little unsafe to me. In any case, this guy was obviously disappointed that he didn't get to rescue me. And I really did appreciate his extreme overreaction. So, I asked him for a business card.

"Oh, we don't have cards. But we do have a phone number." Yeah, I sort of got that, seeing as how I called twice this evening. But I didn't point that out, of course. Instead, I explained that I simply wanted to know his name so that I could praise him to his manager.

"That's really nice, but I am the supervisor around here." Of course, he is.

He did write down his name for me, though. Officer Santos. My hero!

B

Pet Peeve of the Day:
Ridiculous alarmists who have nothing better to do than freak people out for no reason. And by this, of course, I mean the HR department at my workplace and the media. It was supposed to "snow" in the Bay Area today. I heard the term "Snowpocalypse" bandied about quite a bit. So, on Thursday, the entire company got an email from HR detailing a contingency plan. You know, in case the drifts and ice-slicked roads should become too hazardous to travel. Come on! Last week, it was in the 70s. There is no possible way that snow could stick, considering the temperature of the soil. Plus, all weather sources predicted that it would be 46 degrees. Is it just me, or does that not make any sense? It did snow in some places. For about a minute. But not anywhere near my office or my home, which is 40 miles away. So, yeah. Thanks for the contingency plan, you fools!