What happens at Costco, stays at Costco (unless I share it here)

While at the office today I needed to make a VERY QUICK run to the Costco Wholesale Warehouse just a few minutes away to drop off some film (Film? They still make that? Well, it's a long story.). "Quick" is the operative word and I was able to get in and out in a matter of minutes. Anyone that knows me well knows that I can easily forget where I parked my car--or even how to drive through my own neighborhood, for that matter.

Well, I thought I was having one of those moments as I wandered the parking lot looking for my 1996 gold Honda Accord. This time, I even thought I knew where I had parked it, but wasn't having any luck. Of course, there was a familiar looking gold car sitting at an odd angle in the middle of the lot, oddly enough, sitting diagonally behind the bumper of a white Jeep Cherokee. But what kind of moron would leave his or her car parked there? It's the aisle of the parking lot.

As you have probably guessed, that "moron" is me? I got out of the car so quickly, that I managed to pull the key out without putting the transmission into "Park." When I walked out of the car and toward the entrance of the store, it must have started slowly (I hope) rolling towards the Jeep. My guess is that it actually nudged into the Jeep's bumper and then rolled back away from it three or four feet. I didn't notice any marks.

As I approached the car, I noticed someone staring at it and looking into the window. "It's in DRIVE," he mentioned to me or anyone else who walked by to see what was going on. It's sort of like the phenomenon where traffic slows down because a few people want to stare at the accident scene on the side of the road.

"Wow, that's weird," I said, while trying to hide my Honda key chain with the big black Honda key.

"It looks like it might have bumped into that Jeep, but I don't see any mark anywhere," he added.

"Yeah. Everything looks ok." I was waiting for him to turn around so that I could quickly (again, that's the operative word for this blog entry) hop back into the car and drive away. But, alas, he kept looking at me. I had to tuck my tail (by this time, I had grown a five foot long white tail with purple spots--I'm already quite fond of it, but I digress...) between my legs and let him know that I was the moron. I drove away quickly, but not so fast as to make anyone suspect that I was leaving the scene of an accident. On the contrary, I was leaving the scene of an idiot.