Creeping dementia
Actually, I don’t think that’s what it is, but it’s a mite disturbing: I hit two grocery stores today — call it Exploit Advertised Specials mode — and at both of them I pushed my mostly-full cart almost all the way to the end of the lot before realizing I was actually parked in the adjacent lane and had to thread my way across.
There was other parking-lot weirdness partially unrelated to my advanced age. At the first store, the vehicle parked next to me was an S600: the big Benz with the V12. I don’t remember ever seeing one of these up close. As befits a Mercedes, it was painted This Way to the Singularity Black. (Driver was vaguely cute in a Helen Mirren sort of way, but I tried not to notice.) Half a dozen spaces up: a ’55 Buick, a four-holer at that, in a purely-Fifties color scheme: bumblebee black/yellow.
No such automotive lust at Store 2, but a bit of synchronicity: the one open parking space I found was opposite a Chevy S10 pickup with a custom paint job and the word BAJA decorating its tailgate. At that moment on the stereo: “Baja,” by the Astronauts, from this homegrown mix. I was hoping for something appropriate when “Tequila” finally came up, but I suppose that would have been pushing my luck.
