It is with great, swelling pleasure that I have Lisha Fink of The Lucky Mom here today. I got to spend a while day with Lisha in real life when I was in New Orleans a few years ago. Lisha is the mother to three sons and the wife to one husband. As far as I’m concerned, they are the lucky ones. An advocate for education, Lisha’s heart is huge. A volunteer in her children’s schools and an active member in her church and community, y’all, this woman walks the walk. Everything she writes is sublime. Don’t believe me? Read her blog. Then follow her at @lishafink.

A Real Whack Job by Lisha Fink

There are a few things in life you can count on with certainty. The sun will rise every morning, it will set every evening, and if you go to Wal-Mart on Saturday you’ll see something crazy.

As I pulled into the parking lot on that blazing August day I saw it: the coveted shady spot.

I took the key out of the ignition and opened the door.

That’s when I saw him.

Wearing a t-shirt and flip flops.

The jar of Vaseline in the shotgun seat made his intentions clear.

“Really?” I said aloud.

My first instinct was to leave. I sat back down and put the key back in the ignition.

Then I got mad.

How dare he? How many other people had he freaked out?

He wasn’t going to make me leave.

Because you don’t get away with being a pervert around me.

And because I really wanted that parking spot.

So I put my keys back in my purse and turned in his direction.

And stared him down.

In hindsight, I regret the staring part because the image of what I saw is now burned forever in my mind. And because he got a good look at me, too.

I left my car, determined to find someone to tell. As I approached the police officer on duty at the store entrance, I wondered what I was going to say.

Now, I know quite a few euphemisms for what he was doing. But in the anxious moments as I approached the officer, I was trying to decide which awkward words were going to come out of my mouth.

“Um…. excuse me. There’s a guy in his car over there….”

The officer looked at me with a blank stare.

“He’s all by himself…”

I just couldn’t find the words. So I pointed.

“He’s in his car. That blue car over there next to the red SUV.”

By this time the cop was started to get irritated that I couldn’t seem to get my message out.

“He’s… um… enjoying himself. In his car. By himself.”

His surprised look told me that he got it.

I gestured toward the car and he assured me that he’d investigate.

I was thinking that somehow this guy was going to find some pants and get dressed and drive off before the cop got there, with my license plate committed to memory and my dumb stare memorized. Then I’d be looking over my shoulder for this deviant for the rest of my life.

Grabbing a cart, I looked back at the officer approaching the car, radio in hand. Hoping that good would prevail, I filled my cart with Cheerios and fruit roll ups and an extra bottle of wine.

I paid for my groceries and headed for the door.

Outside, I saw the car. Still there. Parked next to mine.

There was no way on earth I was going back to my car if this guy was there.

Waiting for me.

Frantically, I searched for the cop I had already talked to, but he was nowhere to be found. There was another officer, but then I’d have to explain again.

Once more I stood there frozen, trying to decide what to do. I could call my husband to come get me. Or take a cab. Or abandon $100 worth of groceries and just walk home.

But that was stupid. I had to get to my car.

So I approached the other officer.

“Ummm…. When I got here, there was a guy parked next to me.”

Blank stare.

“He was in his car. By himself. Anyway, would you walk me to my car?”

Blank stare. He must’ve thought I was crazy asking for a police escort in broad daylight.

Just about that time, the other officer approached to inform me that Mr. No Pants had been arrested. Something about outstanding attachments, and that by now he was getting settled in at his new home in jail.

So I went to my car, loaded the groceries in the back hatch.

As I walked around to open my door, I couldn’t help but look in.

Vaseline smeared everywhere, flip flops abandoned on the floor.

I couldn’t shake the image of him getting tossed into a police car wearing just a shirt.

I picked up the phone and told Mr. Wonderful to be ready to help unload groceries.

And to have a glass of wine ready for me when I got home.

Any *ahem* embarrassing moments in a parking lot?

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