Drag race

I lost a race. It was a spontaneous drag race in a plaza parking lot. I didn’t even know my competitor. He was driving a family sedan. I was in the minivan. We pulled into the plaza at 8:15 a.m. Target was the only store open at that hour. He wasn’t there to shop and neither was I. It takes a lot of strength to leave a Target store without making a purchase. Those damn red clearance stickers have the power to hypnotize. I don’t even remember buying a gigantic ceramic owl or glass carafe, but I only paid $5.

We both needed coffee. There is a Starbucks nestled inside our local Target store. We pulled into the parking lot at the same time. I was already running late to work because I spent 15 minutes searching for My Little Pony. Obviously it’s not my little pony. I am not a female Brony. In case you don’t know, a Brony is a man who is obsessed with Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, etc. For me, collecting My Little Pony figures when you are a grown man is a deal breaker.

I made eye contact with the man in the sedan. Then, I gunned it. He accelerated, too. I pulled into a spot near the entrance and jumped out. I got halfway to the door when I realized I left my wallet in the van. I had come too far to give up now. I ran back, grabbed some money and sprinted to the store. I actually caught up with him. Then, he dropped his keys. Victory would be mine! I could see the Barista waiting at the finish line. I tried to pass him on the right, but he swiveled his body, buttocks in the air, toward a row of carts. I had to go around. Then, a store clerk appeared out of nowhere. Did she drop down from the ceiling? I thought about knocking her over, but being detained, handcuffed and photographed would definitely put a kink in my schedule. He made it to the counter first and to make matters worse, what does he pull from his pocket? A list. He had a list. I got behind “Mr. Let me go get a drink for every person I have ever met.” I would not be taking a victory lap that day.