I have had some interesting experiences over the past couple of years and two of those times the root of the issue was a posted sign of some sort. Whether I obeyed the sign or not, I got caught up in some kind of drama that I felt was unfairly directed at me.
I will draw your attention to Exhibit A – a handicapped washroom stall at work with its own sink inside the stall. The other two stalls were being used and I was slightly desperate. I saw the handicapped stall door was open, beckoning me inside. The porcelain was sparkling, there was plenty of paper and as I recall, I had glanced down the hall when I came in and there was no sign of anyone whatsoever with any physical handicap making their way to the washroom. It seemed like fate and I although I wasn’t proud of myself, I felt that it was meant to be.
I set my purse down on the side of the sink, sat down and that very second where I had committed myself, my purse mysteriously slid into the sink, completely out of reach of my arm. The faucets are the type that come on with sensors and yes, that faucet came on full blast directly into the main pocket of my purse.
I still couldn’t reach, I was still committed to my current position and the faucet was pumping out more water than I had ever seen. Normally when I put my hands under there, the water just sprays for a second and then stops, but no, not today. That uninterrupted stream coming down into my purse was the stuff of the days when we could actually turn on the faucet and regulate our own water. I almost wept for the past.
Instead, I made a mad leap for the sink, grabbed the corner of my purse, pulled it free, sat back down, and watched the water exit my bag from many, many places. There were some survivors inside; some items went to intensive care and the rest went on from this world to their final resting place.
Yes, I understand there was a posted sign that clearly stated Handicapped Stall and yes, I read the sign, but they, whoever THEY are, didn’t have to be so harsh on my first felony.
Exhibit B – I am shopping at Sobey’s here in Strathmore on a very windy day. The wind is blowing in from the west and it was horrible. I pulled into a parking stall only to notice that it had a sign that said FOR LOBSTER LOVERS. Well, I kind of take this stuff seriously enough that I wouldn’t park in the PARK HERE IF IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY stall unless it was my birthday or unless I was really desperate, so I had a quick thought about this Lobster thing. I remembered that I liked lobster, actually, but they are creepy little things and I recalled eating one part of them once which you weren’t supposed to eat and it was awful and then I remembered their beady little eyes.
So even though they were tasty, they didn’t look that good when they were alive, but I had decided I would stay put in that stall anyway. That is when the LOBSTER LOVERS sign started battering the front of my car. It was a full on beat-down and likely the work of the west wind but it just wouldn’t let off. I sat there, watching a Lobster sign beating my car to death, thinking OH YEAH, MAYBE IT IS THE WIND AND MAYBE IT’S THE LOBSTER GODS BUT I STAND FIRM – YOU LOBSTERS ARE STILL CREEPY LOOKING WITH BEADY EYES. It had to be said.
Then I did the only thing I could do – I backed up and found another parking spot. I felt I had no choice. Who knows what the Lobster Gods would have done while I was in the store? I couldn’t chance it.
There was another layer to this Lobster sign that I also had examined for thoroughness of the situation. Some call it Attention to Detail. Some will whisper Savant. And others will just walk quickly away. Tragically a complete stranger overheard me tell the story and she walked over to me and said, “Oh, you must be Judy Cole. It’s nice to meet you.” So what are you supposed say to that?
I digress. While the LOBSTER LOVER’S sign was chopping up my car and I finally moved it to a safer spot, I got to thinking that maybe the Lobster Gods were actually trying to communicate with me and wanted to get my attention. Maybe they wanted me to go into the store, find the live lobsters and set them free! I figured that if I took on their mission, I would grab the frozen ones too, because who knows how much further ahead Lobster Gods are in cryogenic technology. So many lives could be saved!
But, those beady eyes and their lack of evolution made me think that they could have tried a little harder on their end too. So I judged, juried and convicted the lobsters, in absentai, in my car, for that matter, and just went on with my day.
Maybe the Lobster Gods were able to get someone else to help – someone who understood that they weren’t beating down another car – they were tapping out Morse Code to communicate their mission. A former boy-scout for example, or a Navy Cadet.
I felt that I had left matters in the proper hands and I was out.