To The Girl In The Parking Garage It was late. We happened to be walking on the same path. I knew you were nervous--I would be too if I was a petite female, walking alone on a desolate and dark city street at 1:00 a.m. You were about fifty feet in front of me. I was going to turn right. You turned right. Soon, I was going to turn left. You turned left. I tried walking slower to let you get ahead of me. Unfortunately, you decided to walk slower at the exact moment I did. I then decided to start walking very fast, so that I could pass you by, let you be in control of the situation by being behind me. You started walking fast at the exact moment I did. I considered taking another turn or stopping for a smoke. Anything to let you get way ahead of me, to get me off of your path so that you could relax because I know you thought you were being followed by a strange man. It was cold as fuck outside though, so I continued walking toward my destination, a parking garage. I somehow knew this was your destination as well. You walked into the sanctuary of the garage, and I paused to have a smoke. With the luck I was having, you were probably parked right next to me and the coincidence would press the situation enough for me to get maced, I thought. The freezing wind helped me smoke my cigarette down to the filter in record time, but I thought my nicotine break gave you enough time to get to your car without some strange guy on your heels. I got in the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor, where I was parked. The elevator stopped on floor 3. The doors opened. And there you were. You forgot where you parked. I wouldn't have been offended if you didn't get on the elevator, but you did. You shrank away from me, and I could your fear along with the strong fragrance of whatever alcohol you had been drinking all evening. You didn't push a button on the elvator. Of course, you were getting off on my floor. Shit. I wanted to get off the elevator first to show you that I wasn't stalking you, to let you walk behind me for a change. Unfortunately, when the elevator doors parted you were off like a horse at the gate. You walked fast, I walked slowly. We were both headed in the same direction, again. It was at this point that I started to become a bit angry, not so much at you, but at the truths of society that helped to create this uncomfortable situation. So I walked slowly, and felt like the killer in a B horror movie who always catches up with the victim no matter how slowly he walks or how quickly the female victim runs. To make things worse, a penny was stuck in the grooves of the sole of my shoe. You walked quickly, and behind you you heard the "clink-clomp" of my shoe and penny laden shoe hitting the hard concrete. You panicked at this point, I think. Thankfully, you I saw you turn left up the ramp, and I went right, toward my car. The parking deck was empty of cars, save mine and one parked right next to it. I absolutely knew the car next to mine was yours. You were now wandering around the sixth floor I think, either avoiding me and waiting for me to leave or truly drunk and lost. I got in my car, started it up and let it warm up a bit. I wanted to help you. . .and then I saw you in my rearview mirror. Miss, whomever you are, please don't ever accept a ninja or spy job, because you are horrible at trying to conceal yourself from view. Maybe it was the bright pink scarf dangling over the edge of the ramp or the fact that you were perched right underneath a bright halogen lamp, but I could not only see you trying to hide, watching me in my car, but you stuck out like a turd in a punch bowl. I sighed, put my car into gear, and backed out of my space. I backed out a bit too far, cut the wheel and found my headlights right on you, completely illuminating and exposing your already horrible hiding place. Your eyes looked haunted, like that famous National Geographic cover featuring the woman with the 'haunted eyes.' The apology: I'm truly, truly sorry that at that point I flashed my brights and honked my horn at you like I was firing a machine gun. You jumped and, I think, screamed, but at this point the whole situation had gone too far for me. I also think you needed to sober up a bit more before you got behind the wheel of your car. As I pulled away, I smiled and waved at you. You gave me the finger. I probably deserved your wrath at this point, but please: In the future, get someone to walk you back or take a cab. You stink at being stealthy. I hope your hangover wasn't too bad.
