I can only handle the giant flea market atmosphere about once a year. Today was the day that I put on my tennis shoes and a backpack, tucked a wad of cash in my pocket, and set out to admire all things crafty and bedazzled.
We (Daniel came along)
actually did well - I found a few Christmas gifts as well as some home decor for myself. I found a bargain on a tall jewelry cabinet, which I have been really wanting. I ate a corn dog and drank some expensive lemonade. By three o' clock, thisbaby was protesting my physical exertion and I was ready for a nap.
We hiked back to the car and loaded up our purchases. We zipped out of the parking pasture (hey, don't say we aren't sophisticated in Texas) and pulled alongside a row of shops to pick up the heavy afore-mentioned jewelry cabinet that the store owner was holding for us.
I sat in the van while Daniel went to manhandle our new furniture. I watched the crowds of people spilling from vendor to vendor, treasures in hand. One of the more popular things for sale all over the market were various shapes and sizes of rustic metal that you are supposed to hang on your wall. People were snapping these things up like starving goats going after tin cans.
In the rearview mirror, I saw a woman with a cart stuffed with packages, a huge rusty metal sculpture balanced precariously atop her purchases. It hung off either end of her cart and it is a wonder she wasn't gouging out the eyes of young children and short adults that walked past her.
I watched her as she approached the van in slow-motion.
She pushed her cart and paid attention to everything but what she should have.
That sound went on forever. My eyes met hers as she brought her cart even with the passenger window of the van. Her eyes were huge when she saw that the van was occupied. She reached her hand out and cupped it around the rusty tip of her "art" and bustled away into the crowd.
I stuck my head out the door to survey the damage. Of course, it looked like she had just keyed my van. There is a huge scrape about three feet long that extends down the side door. Please remember that I just got this van in July, and pardon my nerdiness, but I LOVE THIS VAN.
Of course, I tattled to Daniel as soon as he came out of the shop with my huge jewelry cabinet. He chased the woman down and told her that she had just managed to damage our vehicle because she was careless, and perhaps she should pay a little more attention.
She walked back to the van with us, saying repeatedly that she had not scraped the car and that she had covered the tip of the metal specifically so that it wouldn't scrape. She saw the damage, and said, "Oh! I didn't do that. I was shielding your car with my hand."
Daniel took the keys and walked around the car to leave. He saw no point in arguing with her. I said, "Oh, so you didn't do that to my car?" She said, "There is no way I could have!
What? "No way?"
Like physically impossible? Like it violates the laws of God and nature? Let's get Einstein involved here, cause I am pretty sure there is a way, lady.
I didn't want money or her insurance information. I merely wanted acknowledgment. An apology would have been nice, but she was above that. She was too good to say that she was sorry for being careless.
It chapped me the whole way home. Not because my car is scraped, but because where is the decency? Who said that she was better than me and didn't have to acknowledge her transgressions?
I hope I remember this next time I hurt someone. Sometimes "I am sorry" doesn't do much, but sometimes it makes all the difference in the world.
On that note, we left the flea market. I had enough of being around people