Page 1 of The Disasters of Dating
CHAPTER 1
POPPY
The universe may throw you a few curveballs today, Pisces. A loose thread may unravel more than just your hairstyle and not everything that glitters will be gold.
Why didI read my horoscope this morning? When I read the first line, I should have just closed my browser. But did I? Nope. And now I’m sure it’s what put all this negative energy into the air. I release a huge sigh. “Come on, it’s not that difficult to scan a card,” I yell at my windshield.
My jaw clenches, and I reach up to rub the amethyst stone at my throat with my thumb as I wait for the person three cars in front of me to scan their parking card and move through the gate. I take in a few deep breaths, calling on as many calming vibes as I can get.
I’m late for work, and I HATE being late. Does no one understand that right now?
I pull out my phone and text Sheila on the company group text. She’s the girl who has the shift before me.
Hey, I’m going to be late. A car in front of me doesn’t know how the card reader at the parking lot works. I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck here.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat. From the corner of my eye, I see the shuttle bus. “No, no, no,” I yell at it. If I miss it, it will be ten minutes before the next one arrives.
The guy in the car behind the moron in front, sticks his head out the window and yells something as he honks. The lady in the offendingcar leans her head—or rather a large floppy hat—out and yells something in return. I consider rolling down my window to listen to the exchange, but before I can even decide, the guy leans out farther and waves us all back.
He wants us to back up? I look in my rearview mirror. Is he kidding me right now? There are four more cars behind me. Where are we all supposed to go? We’re already backed out onto the main road into the airport.
I sigh and put my car into park. Pushing open the door, I hop out and jog to the front car. “I don’t think we can back up. Is your card not working?” I ask the lady in an irritated voice until I see she is probably like seventy or something. She reminds me of my Grandma Sue. Although, Grandma Sue is a much better dresser and her hair is a natural silver, rather than a bottle brown with gray roots.
“I seem to have read the signs wrong.” The lady says with a confused frown. “I thought this was the short-term parking lot.” She stares at the gate that is still down in front of her as if she can will it open with her mind.
I bite my frustration down and smile, trying to sympathize with her. The signs can be a bit confusing if you aren’t familiar with the area, I guess. And people are always so impatient on the road coming into the airport. It’s like everyone is late for something. “The short-term parking is two exits after this one.” I lean over and point through her windshield. “It’s in that big parking structure over there.”
She squints and then nods. “Oh, how did I miss that?”
I shake my head, but keep my thoughts to myself. “Okay, why don’t I use my card to open the gate? Then you can just follow the signs to the exit. Once you’re out of this parking lot, you’ll go to the main airport entrance. Then follow the signs to short-term parking. Easy-peasy,” I say, knowing it likely isn’t. If it were, she probably wouldn’t be here right now.
She nods her head. “Oh, thank you, dear. I just don’t know how I got so turned around. I hope my granddaughter hasn’t had to wait too long.”
I give her a wide smile, which I really don’t feel. But then I relax. This lady is someone’s grandma. I would want someone to be nice and help Grandma Sue out if this happened to her. Which I can’t imagine it would—but still. Kindness is free and I can afford that, right?
I swipe my card. As the arm swings up, I wave her in. “There you go. Have a great day,” I say as she slowly inches forward.
Just as she clears the arm, she stops and leans out of her car. “Thank you, again, dear.”
I wave my hand at her until she turns down the row leading out of the parking area. I rub at my forehead as the bottleneck she’s caused slowly moves forward. I hope she can find her way out. But her poor granddaughter might have to wait a while.
“Thanks, lady.” The guy in front of me says as he sails past.
The car behind my parked car honks.
I jog back and hop inside, moving toward the gate. I don’t want to be the one causing the hold-up. Several people smile at me and give me a grateful wave or dip of their chin.
I smile back. And even wave at a few of them. Take that horoscope. My day is looking up!
I scan the lot for the shuttle bus and park in the opposite direction, hoping it will give me a little extra time to get parked before it hits my stop.
I swing into the parking space and shut off the engine. Leaning over, I grab my phone from where it had landed on the seat next to the passenger side door. I sit back up, my eyes still on the rearview mirror. I’m going to have to jog to make it. Roger, the shuttle driver, has either had a lot of coffee or he is especially lead-footed today. Either way, I don’t have time to waste.
Hopping out of my car, I swing my oversized boho bag/purse over my head and slam the car door shut. But as I take my first step toward the shuttle stop, I’m yanked back against the car. “Cheese and crackers!” I yell as I glance down and see my flowy boho skirt clutched tightly between the door and the frame. “Oh. My. Heck!” I yell. “I don’t have time for this!”
I yank at the door handle, but it’s locked. As I rummage through my bag—the denim patchwork one I bought at the arts fair last summer—I’m less thrilled with its voluminous interior than I’d been when I’d first seen it. Where in the crap are my keys? They have to be in here. I mean, I just drove to the airport. The only other place they could be—I turn back toward the door and slam my hands flat against the window. The glimmer of metal winks at me from the front passenger seat.
“No!” I scream and pound my fists on the glass. “This can’t be happening.” This is a little more than a loose thread. It’s more like a wardrobe malfunction! I should email the online newspaper and tell them to fire their horoscope writer.
