i decide he is in his early 20s, overweight, with a lazy amount of hair on his baby face. backward baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt. and here i get pretty specific: i decide that he will be wearing adidas athletic sandals and tube socks on the coldest day of the year. his jeans will be too long.
you're probably wondering how i can be so sure that i am dealing with a jackhole and not just a sweet, gentle sort who is easily distracted and accidentally parked badly. here's how: there is no way the jackhole was able to extricate himself from the driver's side. he had to slide his bloated substitute right fielder kiester over the truck's bench, crushing nitty gritty dirt band cd cases, and exit via the passenger side.
i watch the door of blockbuster in my rear view mirror for seven minutes. if i know this kid, he's taking his time, browsing. maybe he even snagged a copy of rolling stone under his arm and made for the unisex bathroom where he can lay a deuce.
finally i just go back inside.
i head directly to the video game rentals. he's more xbox and less playstation.
he's not there. i dust the perimeter for my jackhole, but he's not in the new releases. not in vintage action or comedy. no one in this store meets the profile i've created.
i approach one man and ask him if he owns a big truck. as soon as he turns around, i know its not him. too clean. and he's wearing a peacoat. then i ask another, again immediately sure its not him. in fact, i'm pretty sure this second guy has never even spit in public, let alone fill a mountain dew bottle with brown drool and let it freeze in his passenger seat like the jackhole i'm looking for.
and i'm right. both shakes his head no when i ask.
when i find the culprit, my mind is blown. she's in the comedy section and she's a she! that didn't match my profile at all. although as soon as i saw her i knew: she kind of looked like a jackhole. a different kind of jackhole, but a jackhole nonetheless. she told her boyfriend -- who also didn't meet my desciption, and in fact looked nothing like a jackhole. "i'm going to go move the truck for this girl." he didn't seem surprised.
i followed her out to the parking lot.
"hmm," she said, looking at her truck. "i should probably get in on the other side ... doesn't look like there is much room on that side."
so, what? you -- or your boyfriend -- just got out on the other side for sport the first time? or am i going to find a mysterious marroon racing stripe next time i look at the passenger side of my car?
this is why i never leave the house.