A Sneer is Born... or, the Competitive Spirit of the Holidays

The sun was gently lowering to a chilly horizon as I patiently cruised the Macy’s parking lot at Smithaven Mall, seeking temporary berth for my SUV.  It was a see-your-breath day just mere hours before Christmas, and my gift list was still incomplete.  Here was my last chance to finish this annual task of cheery gifting, and perhaps, for the holidays, to update my own tired wardrobe, one whose threadbare elbows and mysteriously shrinking waistlines screamed for retirement. Apparently others had the same idea…procrastinators and bargain-seekers alike.

A flotilla of similarly-minded cars constantly circled the lot, a ballet of chariots dancing to an unheard symphony.  Hope would erupt suddenly like mushrooms on a suburban lawn as shoppers emerged from the Mall, but was dashed just as quickly as the newly vacated spots were swiftly filled by vehicles nearer than I. Yet, I maintained my confidence. Surely the odds were in my favor; the right
moment/right place phenomenon would inevitably guide me to a spot not far from my merchants of choice that day.

Suddenly, there it was. A young woman with three small children in tow emerged from Macy’s, steering her entourage to a nearby minivan. Strapping in the youngsters, the young mommy started the family transport and cautiously backed up. What luck!! I would have but a short distance to tote my new purchases that
day.  Just then…a small red car of indeterminate vintage loaded with four high-schoolers screeched around the corner, moving at a velocity more appropriate to Daytona. Clearly having excelled in his Driver’s Ed lesson on aggressive maneuvering and terrestrial dogfighting, the young wheelman adroitly pulled into the spot with a fluid motion and hit his brakes just millimeters from the car in front. Suppressing the effects of a surge of adrenaline, I gently tapped the horn; surely he had not seen me, would realize quickly the error of his ways, and would back out with profuse apologies.  I realized he had heard my signal…he briefly glanced my way…no other response.  Rolling down my window and honking a bit more insistently, I clearly communicated verbally that it was my spot,
invoking the territorial imperative known to drivers at least as far back as
the ancient Romans. Then, and it was unmistakable, the driver, accompanied by
his female passengers slowly turned in my direction and pointed to the sky in
unison…with their middle fingers. The challenge was clear as it was formidable;
after all, he was already in the coveted spot. 

My position was one of weakness, that of an individual clearly wronged but with few options.  I was certain reason would prevail as I suppressed the urge to deprive some families of their offspring. “Look, kid, I was waiting for that spot.”  Somehow, it soundly plaintive and ineffectual. The verbal response was sharp as it was unprintable. I was certain my face had taken on colors more resembling tomato than human. But, I was a normally mild-mannered adult, having honed my accepting nature on the grindstone of experience. I couldn’t sink to his level.

The very best I could muster was a horrific epithet that emerged from my viscera even to my own surprise: I hope they’re out of your sizes!