I'm thankful the heat has cooled here in Southern California. September 15th. For most an uneventful day. Unless you're required to sign tax returns for a corporation. Yes. The 15th is the last possible deadline for filing a corporate tax return.
So a casual meeting with my accountant, glide my pen across some government forms and a club sandwich and lemonade while overlooking the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Not a bad midday activity.
Until I decided to leave the parking lot.
Seems an elderly lady backing out of a handicapped parking space was a bit engrossed in conversation with her younger friend — who looks healthy at 80 years old. Though the damage to her spanking new Mercedes was a bit upsetting.
“Well, if your car is ok I won't have to tell my son,” she tells me excitedly as she runs her hand over my bumper. “I don't see anything wrong here,” she explains while squinting. I advise her to put on her glasses.
A scrape and a scratch. She's shaking a bit. Nervous about insurance. Her son. And who knows what else. I advise her on how to get her car fixed sensibly and ask for her phone number.
Damage so slight. She's 81. I'll live with the scrape. And the old ladies can enjoy the rest of their day.
I just hope they'll look the next time they back out of a parking space.
