For the Want of Orange Juice...

"For the want of a nail

The shoe is lost

For the want of a shoe

The horse is lost

For the want of a horse

The rider is lost

For the want of a rider

The battle is lost

For the want of a battle

The kingdom is lost

And all for the loss

Of a horse shoe nail."

The above is an apropos precursor to what happened to me today. I'd had a perfectly marvelous day, actually. My financial aid reimbursement check was FINALLY in (three weeks late....), I'd gotten my Shakespeare paper turned in on time (the concept of "the jewel" in Measure for Measure), had pizza with Shelby (spur of the moment, it's-cold-and-wet kind of decision), done three loads of laundry (it's amazing how much four people can manage to get dirty in one day), and taught four piano lessons in a row (Mary Banks is really tearing up the keys on The Pink Panther. For a nine-year-old, she's extraordinarily talented). 

After I'd waved good-bye to my final student, I decided that life would not be worth living for the next few days without orange juice. I love teaching piano lessons, but those kids get me sick more often than I care to think about. Within the last month alone, I've traced both my horrendous stomach virus and now this hideous cold back to the little angels. I'm about ready to sent home a note to their mothers. Anyway, I could see the way in which this cold would choose to go, and without orange juice ready and waiting in my arsenal, the prospect of my survival was grim.

So I got into my car after having made sure that it would be light outside for the next hour or so. My depth perception at night, frankly, is crummy. I can't wait to ask God someday why He chose to make a future author, someone who will be looking at computer screens for a good percentage of her lifespan, have eyes that are barely functional. I kid you not, ladies and gentleman. I once blew a tire when I jumped a curb because I thought it was farther away than it was in actuality. It should be of no surprise to you, then, that I carefully plan my errands to coincide with the hours of daylight. It also doesn't help that I'm hideously afraid of the dark. But we won't go down that road right now. 

After I got into my car, I noticed that my gas gauge was below a quarter of a tank. I don't like to get too low, just in case I get stuck in a traffic jam on the interstate, so I went to the gas station first and filled 'er up. I need not go into great detail on my ecstasies of joy that were brought on as I was filling my car with only seventeen dollars, rather than the hitherto necessary amount of thirty-five. It was very, very nice to see. After that, I found myself stopping at Hobby Lobby to see if they had a skein of wool to match the emerald chenille that I'm using to make myself a scarf. It was at this point that I decided that people with colds really have no right to make unexpected detours--I hadn't been smart enough to pack any Kleenex in my purse, and my nose was in dire need of a good honk.

When I left Hobby Lobby, the skies had opened. I like rain, except when I have to drive in it. And, of course, I had no umbrella on my person. So I pretended to mind having to run through the rain to my car. It was then rather interesting having to carefully orchestrate putting my bags away without getting my front seat wet. This was accomplished by flinging my car keys into the driver's seat while tossing the bags pell mell into the back. Of course I then climbed into the driver's seat and couldn't find my keys... Realization soon dawned, however, and I extracted my keys from under my tush and drove on to Kroger.

Let me say, folks, that people who are at Kroger after five o'clock in the rain are BRUTAL. Finding a parking space was like unto Daffy Duck and Marvin the Martian both trying to claim Planet X in the names of their respective planets. (Look below for a video with more information on same incident...if I did it correctly, of course. I have no idea how to do it in the suave, click-the-blue-letters way.)

I finally got into the store and did my shopping (two kinds of juice!!!). It was kind of amusing when I got carded for buying Nyquil....the little manager rushed over to look at my driver's license and I, being the insufferable smart aleck that I am, said in a thoroughly stuffed-up nose way, "Dude, I'm buying Nyquil, not making drugs. I hab a culd. Obviously." He just grinned--there must not be much in the way of amusement when one is checking out the many suspicious Nyquil buyers in the self-checkout lane of a grocery store.

As my next feat, I managed to slush my way back to my car. I got in without huge incident, and even made it out of the parking lot without any near misses. I was absurdly proud of myself. 

Pride goeth before a fall. 

I was sitting in the left hand lane of a three lane road, minding my own business, when I noticed a gargantuan, look-at-my-gun-rack kind of truck in the parking lot directly to the right of me. It obviously wanted to get into the left hand turn lane, but I was in the way. Note my deplorable lack of sympathy for him. Anyway, he decided he was gonna be a good 'ole boy and give it the old-fashioned try. I just sat there, helpless, while he tried to get around me, HIT ME in the back, and ran up the curb. I'm sitting there in shock going, "Uh, hello! Sitting right here! Headlights are on, music pounding and everything!" Unfazed, the giant green truck just reversed AND HIT ME AGAIN! It roared into the turn lane and scrammed before I could even honk my horn or get its license plate number. 

Need I add that he did this RIGHT in front of the police station? 

I was irked. Royally irked. I call him a thoroughly un-Christian name, of which I remain to be unrepentant. I got home just fine, and although seeing was rather difficult, I couldn't find any major damage. I don't even think he busted a light...but still! What a jerk! I'm a poor little college student out buying supplies for my cold, and some guy thinks he's going to go monster truck rally on my piddlin' little car's back bumper! Is there no justice in the world?

And need I add, as yet another addition, that as I was bringing in the juice that had started it all, the plastic bags ripped and dumped their loads onto the wet concrete?

For want of some orange juice was my beloved car desecrated...