I got hit on in the Wegmans parking lot and my hip almost died

I found this blog post in my drafts folder and the date shows I wrote it around the same time I wrote the one about attracting both a wedgie and a horny geriatric in the same afternoon and I remember freaking myself out, convinced I had either developed sudden onset of bad joojoo or a nursing home had peed on me to mark its territory because I could find no other explanations for why I had suddenly become an octogenarian magnet and that might have been the reason I never published it. Either that, or I was suffering from a concussion of my hip.

Either way, this is what you missed last summer:

Yesterday, I was sort of hit on by yet another fossilized Y chromosome, this time in the parking lot of Wegmans and when I say “sort of” I mean that he didn’t so much hit on me as he did, well, hit me. With his 2000+ pound Dodge Ram truck. While in reverse. In the general vicinity of my hip.

It was Thursday and I had gone to Wegmans because that’s what I do on days of the week that have vowels in them and as I left my car and walked to the entrance, I stopped so as not to get in the middle of two women who were preoccupied with backing out of their opposing parking spots and playing chicken with their bumpers. It being 135 degrees outside, I decided not to exert any more energy than absolutely necessary so I didn’t walk around them and instead, I stayed put, out of their way, next to what I thought was a parked truck. Then I simply enjoyed the spectacle of two women yelling and gesticulating and trash talking each other, reveling in the fact that two females were on the verge of bitch slapping each other right in front of me and I did not have to tackle them or confiscate a cell phone, Nintendo DS game or other electronic life line or sit them down for a Come to Jesus talk for the simple fact that neither of them had popped out of my womb after twelve miserable hours of back labor.

And then, without warning, the parked truck I had been standing next to backed up and planted a kiss right on my hip. I jumped out of my skin the way and before I could stop it, a high pitched squealy &!!*%$#@ flew out of my mouth, sailed through the air and smacked the old man driving the truck right between his apparently blind eyes. He hesitated and then continued to back up until his driver’s side window was flush with my face which, coincidentally, was also flush and then he managed an apologetic “Sorry for the tap, Ma’am” and then he drove off before I could find the wherewithal to sue him or scream WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE. DID YOU JUST CALL ME MA’AM?

Had I been standing farther away than one inch from his bumper and had he been going any faster than .00045 mph when he almost ran me over, things may have turned out drastically different and I’d probably be writing this from my coffin. As it is, I have a molested hip with nothing, not even a scratch, to commemorate the event and therefore I have nothing to talk about on Facebook. You’d think I’d at least have gotten a bruise out of the deal but nada, except for the massive hematoma sprawled all over my ego. Because hello? Since when had I become a “Ma’am?” What the hell was wrong with “Miss?” Or “Pretty Lady?” I mean, if you’re going to commit attempted negligent homicide in reverse upon my person, the least you could do is address me as “Smoking Hot Middle-Aged Babe Who Just About Killed Herself to Lose 45 pounds and Whose Thighs No Longer Rub Together?”

Am I being unreasonable?

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10 thoughts on “I got hit on in the Wegmans parking lot and my hip almost died”

  1. Wow. What an ass.
    See, now that you are skinny no one can see you. I’m going to go and get me some Ice-cream and eat the rest of my holiday chocolates, don’t want that happening to me. Being under 5 ft he wouldn’t see me over his tail gate.
    Hope everything is fine, sometimes it takes a day for the pain to kick in.

  2. OMG, I would have got his license plate and called the authorities…what a jerk…and the Ma’am part, that would have steamed me beyond belief unless it was coupled with an “oh my gosh are you alright, I am so sorry…”.

  3. OMG you are so funny! Reading your blog makes my day seriously. I’m sorry about the “tap” on the hip as I know that’s not funny but the way you write and tell about it is. He’s an ass and I’m 51 and HATE HATE HATE to be called ma’am.

  4. Oh.my.gosh yes I would’ve been MAD. Especially at the “tap” part. What a way to completely minimalize the fact that he *hit* you. I swear, some people are crazy. Crazier than me, and that says a lot 😀

    On the “Ma’am” thing, though… I have a weird fondness for that word. I apparently have a baby face (and/or most people are blind in addition to crazy) so people assume that I am much younger than I actually am (I’m 28 and I have people asking me which HIGH SCHOOL I go to and if I plan to go to college!). In 20 years or so, this will be AWESOME, but for now kinda sucks. I say this because I live in Miami, where the official language is Spanglish — so I am often called “nina” or “ninita” (except of course with the little wiggly line over the ‘n’ that I can’t add in a comment box). Yes. “Girl” or specifically “Little Girl.” Yuck.

    Every so often, I come across someone from the real South, and I am called “Ma’am” and it just sounds so *nice* compared to “girl” that I love it. I know most people don’t, but I can’t help it.

    Anyhow, I glad you dredged this anectdote up from your drafts. You may not have gotten any war-wounds but you did get a good story out of the experience! 🙂

  5. Okay, here’s the thing. The old dude was clearly on crack (or some octogenarian prescription version). That’s the only explanation. As far as I can see, nearly all old people are high most of the time. Just look in their purses, they’re packed with drugs. And personally I don’t blame them. When I no longer have to worry about the kids that popped out of my womb or my thighs rubbing together or wearing sexy shoes I’m going to get high too.

    So basically what I’m saying is ignore what the old dude said. He was probably thought you were his great aunt Agnes visiting from outer space. Just be glad he wasn’t driving his truck at warp speed. Happy 2011!

  6. You are being 100% reasonable in my eyes. Glad there was no harm but to your ego. OMG I hate when people call me ma’am on a good day let alone any other time.

  7. How very lucky you were that nothing worse happened! My father was from the south, and we were brought up to say yes sir, yes ma’am, even to our brother and sisters. So to me that would have been nothing. In fact, I had no idea some people resented it so much!

  8. I don’t mean to sound like an online stalker or anything, but I swear I love you more with every blog post. I so look forward to your posts. You are hilarious!

    PS – I live in Buffalo, not that I would ever hunt you down or anything!

  9. He probably just thought his heart palpitations were brought on by the shock of having almost marred your gorgeous form, not from the stunning radiance of your beauty.

    (Besides, young guys hit on women at the most inappropriate times, middle aged guys learn that women don’t respond well in many circumstances, wiser gentlemen have just given up, well, or revert to their youth.)

  10. I love Claire’s comment about how old people are essentially high all the time. It’s true. Have you seen the pill sorters most of them carry? There should be licenses for those.

    I’ve been getting called “Ma’am” since I was 20. It’s a by product of being an Army wife. It used to bother me, but after 10 years, I honestly don’t even notice it anymore. I’d probably notice more if they used my actual name.

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