I decided to post something a bit more lighthearted than several of my recent somber entries. As part of my Memoir prompts, I was asked to write about my experience with the above titled subject.

Yes, indeed. It’s quite embarrassing. May even happen on a weekly basis, but only if I’m by myself. I try to park by a light pole or a cart corral so it’s easier to remember the spot. It’s difficult to not make it obvious when I’m prowling around row after row of cars at HyVee with a loaded shopping cart. Everyone else knows what the problem is. How can one act nonchalant? Oh, just getting my steps in for the day.

The worst case happened to me in the past when I had what we satirically called “The Beater.” It was a gray, very indistinct, older model Nissan Sentra. On at least two occasions I actually got in the wrong unlocked car. Talk about a wake-up. I had sat down and closed the door. But in about a second I came to realize, “Oh my. This doesn’t seem familiar at all. These are not my things on the passenger seat and my seat is too low and my key won’t work.” The awkward part is getting out before the real owner shows up.

Strange things can happen in parking lots. Just yesterday I stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts Shop. As I opened my door to get out, from the corner of my eye I saw a Black man open the passenger side back door, ducking his head trying to enter. He said “Hey. How’s it goin’?” Quite surprised in cautious confusion I stuttered “Uh, what?” He asked “So are you the Uber driver?”

Still stunned (by racial profiling, not knowing if I was being mugged or car jacked) I told him no, NO! He said, “Sorry, my bad,” closed the door and walked away. I shrugged it off for the honest mistake that it was and went in to get my donuts. Kinda makes me wonder, as I get older, what could be next?