Parking lot Shiekh

 

In the Winco parking lot, as I was pushing my shopping cart toward my car, a silver Tahoe with tinted windows pulled up next to me. The driver rolled down the passenger window and leaned over to me. He was a portly man, mid 30s, an East Indian, judging by his appearance and accent. A woman in the back passenger seat also rolled down her window. She was dressed in the traditional Sikh attire with a head shawl and matching robe.

"Hello, sir," he addressed me with urgency in his voice. Between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, making the universal sign of a TV camera lens, he held up a small, white box marked with the Apple logo. Some air pods, I presumed.

"Sir," he continued, "I have here some brand new <not remembering the word for earbuds or airpods> never been in anyone's ear. New. Please. Will you buy them?"

"But I don't need them," I said.

"OK. OK. Here. This ring, then. Please. I need gas money." He sounded desperate.

I took a step back and looked closer at the man. He was wearing the biggest gold chain I'd ever seen, along with several other large chains. He could have been a rapper, so much jewelry draped around that thick neck of his. The ring he held up was also gold, very gaudy and oversized. I pictured him smoking a big, fat cigar and using the the ring as an end snipper to lop off someone's finger.

Something about the incongruity of the obvious, ostentatious opulence and his parking lot carnival huckster presentation did not jive, so I called him on it.

"That's a pretty big car you are driving..." I started. I mean, really, how much sympathy could he expect, driving that gas guzzler?

"I lost my wallet," he countered. "I need gas money."

There was a long scrape down the passenger side of the car. It looked recent. His wife just stared at me from the back seat. I looked at the man and apologized for his trouble but firmly declined to purchase any of his wares. He looked at me like he was deciding whether to jump out and rob me or back up and run me over.

I turned back to my car and popped the rear hatch. He drove off, making a few more circuits around the parking lot. I finished loading my groceries and proceeded to get the hell out of there. As I exited, I kept checking my rearview, as he was still in the parking lot and driving in a jerky, frustrated fashion.

I don't know how much of his story, if any, was true. I know I was being superficial in my assessment of the man. He could have been a king, down on his luck, or he could have been a burglar selling stolen goods, or some poor slob working a multi-level marketing liquidation sale. I'll never know. 

——

Before that, while on my way to the store, waiting to turn onto Loma Rica Road, a black and white sheriff's SUV flew past me with lights on. I waited for him to pass, then followed in the direction of town. I knew that I'd be seeing him somewhere up the road, either pulling someone over or attending the scene of an accident.

It turned out to be the latter. I rolled up to a pileup of EMS vehicles at the big S curve on Loma Rica Road and Bonanza, a blind intersection where many accidents occur. A sheriff's officer waved the car in front of me to turn around. The officer approached my car, and I rolled down the window.

"Good day, officer," I said. "I think I know how this is going to go."

"Yeah," he said in a tired voice. Then he looked at me closer. "Hey, it's...Andrew, right?"

I was surprised (and a little nervous) that he knew my name. I didn't remember his face, but then I have talked to a fair number of law enforcement officers over the years. I am probably known to most of them as the weird guy with a death wish who walks or bikes on this dangerous roadway in all seasons. 

"Long time no see," I said, trying to disguise the fact that I'd forgotten his name. I couldn't read his name patch on his uniform because the sun was in my eyes. "What's going on?"

"The usual," he sighed. "I see this every day. Careless drivers, going too fast. Road will be closed for a couple of hours."

"I know," I said. "I'll take the other way, I guess," and I asked him which way was fastest. 

I've only live up here for fifteen years, you'd think I'd know that by now. He advised me to take Fruitland or Marysville Road. I thanked him and made my three point turn, gracefully exiting the scene. 

Despite the inconvenience, my usual frustration with delays and detours did not arise. I was just kind of stoked that someone had remembered my name.

----

But wait -- there's more. I couldn't let it go, why this SO would recognize me so easily. In my car, not on a bike or wearing a yellow safety vest. I googled the local sheriff dept to see if they had a "meet the staff" page where I could get another look at the guy I saw today. I had to know who I was slighting by not remembering their name. 

My search led nowhere, but in my subsequent scrolling around on Facebook, I came across the story of the day, where they were commending a sheriff's deputy Eck. The name immediately caught my attention, as my next door neighbors are the Ecks. And they have a son who just happens to be a Yuba County deputy sheriff. Small world. 

It was just a surprise to me that this kid who I've seen next door since the time he was 15, arguing with mom and dad, riding horses and getting yelled at to do his chores, would grow up to be someone in somewhat of a position of stature within the community. No wonder I didn't recognize him, all fancy and copped out, driving his big cop SUV, but he could easily recognize me driving the same old car that has been parked next door to his house for the last 15 years.

So, to recap. I went to the store and was approached by a flamboyant parking lot beggar, and my neighbor's kid, who's now a cop, said hi to me. That's all the news. I really don't get out much. 

----

I will make mention of the fact that my friend, my dearest friend, did finally text me back. We are going to get together and talk about what happened, hopefully find some way to keep common ground in the future. I know I upset her. She said as much. I dread having to face up to it, but I do need to know the specifics, as painful as they may be to recount, in order to learn from them.

I can't tell you how glad I am just to have to opportunity to see her again, even if it's for one last haranguing before I get jettisoned. Even getting to hear her yell at me, I'd probably be like Gomer Pyle, just smiling a big, dumb smile while he's getting chewed out by the sergeant. 

"At least we're talking," said Dumber, the over-optimist, grinning a stupidly toothy grin.

I've missed her terribly. I think that's been abundantly obvious.