As I was walking past one of the local
automobile yards here, I noted their new shipment of cars lined up in neat
rows, each identical to the other both in color and style. Row after row after row.
Although these cute little cars were
Fiats, it reminded me of the time I was dating a young man whose pride and joy
was a Volkswagen Beetle. That particular
make of car was very popular with young people in Australia in the 70’s and
80’s. On any given day Volkswagen
bugs…almost always white…lined streets and packed parking lots.
My boyfriend loved his Bug and thought
it even more special because his was black.
An unusual color for a Bug at that time and the only black Bug I’d seen
anywhere in the city.
So it was on a beautiful Saturday
morning that Tom and I decided to spend a lovely day at the beach soaking up
the rays and perhaps catching a few waves.
At the time I lived in a beach suburb which became extremely busy with
an influx of sun worshippers from inner city areas on any given weekend.
And, on that particular day, prior to
descending onto the sand, I needed to make a quick stop to pick up some dry
cleaning before the store closed. Not a
problem. But, since every available
parking space along the road was taken, Tom decided to double park outside the
dry cleaning establishment while I made a quick dash inside. I was gone no more than two minutes.
With my dry cleaning slung over my
arm, I ran to Tom’s car, jumped in and said: ‘Okay, let’s hit the beach.’
‘That would be great…but, I think my
wife has other plans for us this morning.’
My head swiveled toward the unknown
voice and I stared wide-eyed into a pair of blue eyes I’d never seen before.
How was it possible that a complete
stranger had a car exactly identical to Tom’s Bug? And how in this strange world did it come
about that said stranger double-parked his black Bug in exactly the same spot
Tom had been only minutes before?
Who can answer the mysterious
questions of the universe? All I know
is, I felt like a complete twit, as I incoherently mumbled umms and ahhhs and
then brilliantly asked: ‘Where’s my boyfriend?’
‘Don’t know sweetheart.’ He pointed past my head and toward the open
window. ‘But that’s my wife coming down
the street now,’ he grinned.
With a multitude of ‘I’m sorry’s,’
tumbling out of my mouth, I backed out of his car and, standing on the
sidewalk, searched frantically for Tom. There he was, parked against the kerb, four car lengths away, leaning
up against the door of his Bug, looking in my direction and laughing his head
off!
As I stormed up to him, dry cleaning
flapping in the wind, he was nearly doubled over chortling about the
hysterically amusing sight he’d just witnessed.
When I queried why he hadn’t indicated
to me the change in his parking status he just gaffawed some more and told me
he didn’t know the semaphore signal for ‘over here dingaling.’
Needless to say, although we still
made it to the beach, Tom’s further days as my boyfriend were numbered in the single
digits. Dingaling indeed!
