When SoCal weather forecasters speak of a rain storm, they
are referring to precipitation so mild, you need only a hoodie if you get
caught in it. The ground becomes slightly wetter than a dewy morning.
The storm predicted for Friday was different. In certain
areas, people were getting sandbags to protect their homes and businesses. Thursday
night, I could hear the rain as it came down. Now, this is a proper
rainstorm.
Indeed. These were the streets Friday morning,
Hard to see, but my tire's in a little puddle of water |
and Saturday would bring no respite.
Still, laundry must be done, mail retrieved, food bought.
I arrived at the Laundromat as a light sprinkle began. An
hour later, buckets.
In the ten minute drive to buy sundries, the rain alternated
between blindingly heavy and non-existent. I broke down and bought a $15
umbrella to replace the too eager to collapse insurance swag I had in my car.
As I approached my car with my purchases, a woman passed by,
annoyed. The man behind her looked bedraggled and tired.
He approached me as I opened my car door, mumbling a request
I didn't understand, coming close enough to touch me.
I'm sorry I can't.
Into the car, lock the door, deep breath. No, it's probably uncommon for a woman
to be assaulted in front of Target. But I'm not accustomed to strangers getting
so close to me in the parking lot.
I unwrapped my Luna bar, and watched him walk past my side
mirror to another part of the lot. While eating, I watched him walk back,
loiter, then approach another woman. Who was alone. Like me. Like the annoyed woman
who had passed me.
Saturday is mail day. And paycheck day, since the temp
agency I worked for did not have direct deposit. Post office, bank, lunch,
groceries.
I went to a Vons so small, there wasn't a chips aisle. Nor
did I see pita chips, despite the abundant availability of humus. Heavy
sprinkle when I entered, downpour when I left. No change to the parking lot,
though.
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