Yet Another Stupid Thing to Argue About

I’m sitting in the parking lot of Garry’s Grocery waiting on Frances. I wonder why Garry’s parents chose to put two R’s in his name. Perhaps they had an extra one left over from their other son Lary’s name. Frances is a caregiver who I’m going to introduce to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. I’ll go back to the office while she stays, cleans their house and tends to any other needs that may arise.

I work for a senior caregiver agency. If nothing else, the job has convinced me that I no longer want to live to be 105. My neighbor Caroline and I decided to shoot each other simultaneously when we turn 80….hopefully before dementia and adult diapers are part of daily life. It hasn’t occurred to me until now that Caroline is about five years older than me. What now? My plot is foiled. (Note to self, must find someone my own age with whom to go out with a bang)

I told my boss Billy (two L’s) about mine and Caroline’s plan. He pondered it a moment and then asked “are you going to shoot on ‘one’ or ‘zero?” The count down! Yet another question I hadn’t thought of. Planning simultaneous suicide can be so logistically challenging.

“I thought you drove a blue Suzuki!” announces Frances, overzealously tapping on my window glass and startling me from my typing. “Close… it’s a Saturn,” I say.

“Well, Jessica back at the office told me you drove a Suzuki. She sure did. So I’ve been looking for a Suzuki.”

“It’s a Saturn,” I laugh sort of nervously, wondering why we’re still on this topic.

“Well, I’ve been looking for a Suzuki because that’s what I thought you drove,” she says slightly accusingly, as if I’ve secretly traded my Suzuki for a Saturn just to annoy her.

“Yep, uhm, I’ve never driven a Suzuki before. I’m sure they’re nice, but I don’t have one,” I respond, trying to bring closure to the matter and wondering if I’m going to have to explain to the Taylors that Frances and I are late because we were arguing about the make of my car.

“And all this time I’ve been looking for a Suzuki. People can be so incompetent,” Frances sighs, shaking her head as if this misunderstanding ranks in tragedy with the starving children in …..well, wherever they’re starving right now.

I’m starting to feel apologetic, like if I’d only visited the Suzuki dealership five years ago, this unfortunate circumstance might’ve been averted.

Frances seems like the type who blames natural disasters, climate change and shifting tectonic plates on unsuspecting family members.

“Alright then. We’ve wasted enough time. Might as well go on to the Taylors’ house in whatever that is you drive,” she declares.

Not willing to leave well enough alone, I stop abruptly and gawk ‘Wait a minute! Is that your Camry? I could’ve sworn on my life that you drove an Accord!”